Ride the Midnight Ride
by DevilKing091
Summary: Audrey and Katherine are huge fans of the Midnight Riders. There's a flu going on, but they'll still stop at nothing to attend a VIP concert. Even if it means sacrificing their lives. Pre-Left 4 Dead. Centered around the Riders and OCs.
1. The Post

**Hello all! I hope you enjoy my story. It's my first time writing for the Left 4 Dead fandom. It centers around the Midnight Riders and a couple of non-game survivors in the early part of the Infection. The immunes are headed to Griffin, Georgia, to score VIP passes to hang with the Riders, but with zombies starting to show up in Fairfield, what will become of them and the Riders?**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Intro<strong>

"Killy. Psst, Killy. Wake up."

A low murmur. Killy slept on.

"Killy. Killy. Wake up."

More murmurs. Something that sounded suspiciously like "Go away."

"KILLY OH MY GOD IT'S A ZOMBIE!"

"WHAT!" Killy jumped to her feet and yanked her gun from under the shoddy mattress. Piercing green eyes, dulled from sleep, stared around the tiny, dismal room, to the door, which was ajar in hopes of catching a cooling draft. But besides the sounds of the crowded but dying city outside, there was silence. Killy glared at the dark-haired girl that was her partner. She sat, cross-legged, on the ground, perfectly unperturbed. "Jesus Christ Audrey," she said, disgusted. "What the hell."

Audrey shrugged. "Sorry, I wanted you to wake up." There was no sorrow in Audrey Stone's dark brown eyes. "You need to come see this." Her laptop, with its changeable bright purple cover, was plugged into the wall, seeming too cheerful and normal for this situation. "We have power again, and there's been a new post."

All the anger drained from Killy Denton's face, replaced by curiosity. "Seriously?" She stood and crossed the room in quick and powerful strides. For a second, wariness flashed across Audrey's face, but then she forced herself to relax. The worry-lines in her dark skin smoothed out. She had reason to be frightened, of course. She knew what Killy was capable of. After all, her true name was Katherine, and hadn't it been the late Jules Harter himself who had given her the nickname, Killy Kat? Kat the Killer? Kat the . . . Kat the . . . .

_Kat the Witch Hunter, _Audrey thought dismally, as Killy sat beside her. The other girl studied the laptop screen, her eyes impassive. Her hand disappeared into her dark blue hoodie, slowly, almost lazily, then came back up with blinding speed. Audrey screamed, covering her face with her arms, as the report gouged her eardrums, instantly deafening her. There was a second shriek, and something plopped to the ground with a wet smack. Audrey's eyes flew open. Killy sat beside her, arm extended, the Glock in her hand. Smoke rose faintly from the barrel. It was pointed at the doorway. Blood and brains stained the pale yellow wallpaper, a sick crimson mess that made Audrey's stomach flip-flop. A body, that of a woman with long dark hair, lay on the floor, her skull shattered. Grayish-red gunk, like oatmeal, leaked between the bone fragments. "What the hell, Killy?" she asked shakily. "What the hell?" She resisted the urge to throw up, knowing she would see more blood before this trip was over.

"Some zombie girl looking for munchies in the form of our skin," said Killy dismissively, blowing feathery blonde hair out of her face. "Got her."

Audrey was still trembling. "You could have warned me," she whined.

Killy shrugged. "No time." She wiped the muzzle of her gun and flicked the safety back on before stowing it in her jacket. "Bitch was tryna attack. I hadta kill her first."

Audrey wiped her mouth with one hand, still shocked to be alive. "You scared the hell outta me. I thought . . . ."

Killy glanced at her. "You thought what, Aud?" Her tone was forbidding.

"I thought you were gonna smack me," finished Audrey weakly. "And then I heard the bang." _And I thought you were going to shoot me because you don't trust me, _her mind added. _Just like you almost did for Will._ But she did not dare mention Will. That would only make Killy angry and violent.

Killy shrugged again. "So, lemme read it again. I need to think. But quick, because somebody's gonna have heard that gunshot. Police ain't nice about murder, even if the bitch was infected."

Audrey's laptop lay forgotten on the ground, jarred by the impact of hitting the floor but not damaged. Audrey's leg hadn't been far from the ground when she recoiled away from Killy, so the laptop had only dropped perhaps six inches onto the threadbare carpet. Audrey rescued it and offered it to Killy.

Killy cleared her throat. "Hem. Thursday, October 8, 2009." Her eyes widened. "Just this morning," she said in an awed voice, a smile lightening her pale face. "Look! Posted at 7:04 AM. By Jake." Audrey smiled and blushed. Killy chuckled softly and looked back down at the dim screen. "Well. Let's see what we have: "'_You might've heard about a lot of bands cancelling their tours this week because of all the airports shutting down and the government telling people to stay indoors. To that the Riders say: We'll stop touring when we stop breathing. What America needs most right now in its time of trial is MUSIC, and that is one thing the Riders are proud to provide. The airports shutting down don't confront us none. We don't tour in a fancy plane (just the ol' dependable Riders tour bus, and I could tell y'all some stories of what we've gotten up to there over the years)._'" Audrey started to giggle, and even Killy had to smile at that little joke. "'_And with the No Salvation Tour only halfway done, we're not about to let all our fans down who laid down their hard-earned dollars for tickets (and who might wanna buy our new album besides). Next tour stop's Griffin, Georgia, at the good old Peach Pit Arena at Whispering Oaks Fairgrounds. We've played there before and it's one of our favorite all-time tour stops. You Georgians know how to rock! We'll see you there, Green Flu or no Green Flu. You just bring your own badass self and your old lady, and let the Riders take care of the rest._

"'_Much Love,  
>"'Jake.'"<em>

Silence in the small room. Far off in the distance, the sirens ran on and on, the sound of approaching cops drawn to gunfire. Audrey watched Killy, who seemed to be deep in thought. Finally, Audrey tentatively poked Killy's arm. The blonde girl smiled. "Hey Aud?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"How do you feel about Georgia?"

"Too hot normally," replied Audrey, excitement prickling her skin. "But I'd say for a Midnight Riders concert, it's perfect weather."

"Sweet."

-!-

Any stranger to the town of Callings, Pennsylvania may have found a pair of girls, traveling alone during an epidemic, strange. They may too have matched the look of confusion on the receptionist's face when two teens; one tall, blonde and pale, the other small and dark-skinned, walked into the Shady Motel, claiming to be sisters, needing a room for two nights. The blonde had paid in cash, with a hefty tip. The receptionist, whose name was Sharon, had said nothing at the time, but pocketed the money all the same. Anyone who saw this action may have been shocked by the maturity of the teen, but in all honesty, Katherine Marie Denton was seventeen, hardly a child anymore. It wasn't her fault she looked younger. Except for her eyes. In the last three days, those eyes had seen things no human is ever meant to see. In the last three days, Patient Zero had arrived in America, and things turned all to hell. CEDA insisted that a vaccine was in the works, and everything would be fine, but Kat "Killy" Denton knew better. As far as she was concerned, America was completely FUBAR. Her mother was dead, her brothers missing, her best friends quarantined and shipped off to an outpost God only knows where. Her father was alive, but who cared for the son of a bitch anyway? She would have relished the chance to end his life, but she hadn't been home when the riot occurred. She had been at Callings High School. When the riot came to the school campus, she hadn't listened to the CEDA agents trying to calm everyone down. She had run, hard and fast, down the street, trying to escape the city boundaries. Then the car struck her, and she'd ended up at Mercy Hospital ER in Fairfield, insisting she was fine, trying to convince the cute but tired-looking young doctor to let her go. It's just a broken rib or two, she kept saying. I've had worse.

The medics were unimpressed. They had a bitchy nurse with a fake tan monitor her, in case she tried to check out or run off. But the bitch had turned into a slathering, raging Infected, and Killy had jammed a pair of scissors through her eye. Blinded and shrieking, the Infected crashed into a wall, shoving the scissors deep into her own brain. Killy waited only a moment to see if the woman would rise. But there was no more movement from her. Killy fled from the hospital and came home as fast as possible, with a care to her broken rib. On the way, she had met Audrey, pursued by a half-crazy man succumbing to the infection. Killy had grabbed the girl and hid up in a fire escape until the man started to seize and finally died. And then, Will had come, bearing guns, which made Killy try to return fire. They met, and things were forever changed.

But now was not the time to remember Will. Now was the time to pack up shit and go to the Peach Pit in Georgia to see the Midnight Riders, the most amazing band in the world. They had to leave before anyone came running, but this afternoon, there was no one moving in the hotel. Hurriedly Killy stuffed her clothes into the duffel bag and urged Aud to do the same. They were gone in five minutes, out the bathroom window and away from the hotel before anyone came running. Nowadays the police were slow to respond anyway, caught up as they were in the evac situation. By the time two sick, bewildered cops arrived at the Shady Motel to comfort a hysterical Sharon, the girls had vanished down Front Street, and far away from Callings, Pennsylvania forever.

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><p>An entry from Audrey's journal:<p>

_October 8, 2009_

_Haiiiii, journal! I know it's weird to start such a thing, I mean I'm sixteen and it's a little-girl thing, but if I survive this whole "Green Flu" thing I want people to know I existed. My name is Audrey Stone, I am sixteen as I said before, and both of my parents are now dead, along with my baby sister Angela. I'm traveling with a friend, Katherine Denton, who I met when a crazy guy started chasing me around Fairfield. We're holed up in the Shady Motel in Callings, Pennsylvania right now, and I'm looking at the-oh wow, a new post by the Midnight Riders! Katherine and I are both huge fans of them, even some of the stuff that isn't any good. I love Jake, who's called "the lover," and Katherine is obsessed with Ox, the drummer. I guess she loves percussion. We're sitting here in the Shady Motel (what a name! I suppose it was supposed to be Shady Pines or something but it just ended up plain shady. Note to self, remember to ask the receptionist about it!) with duffel bags full of clothes, mostly MR T-shirts and jeans, and my laptop, that Killy (Katherine's nickname is Killy) let me take with me because she knew we'd need to know where the Midnight Riders are so we can cash in our special VIP passes. Next stop is gonna be Griffin, Georgia! I can't wait!_

_Oh my God dear sweet Jesus Killy just shot a woman we have to go goodbye_

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><p><strong>So what do you think? Please, leave reviews!<br>Yes it is indeed short, but the next chapter will be longer.**


	2. The Tank

**Chapter 2: Drive, Baby, Drive**

Katherine only had a learner's permit to drive, but she knew the back roads in Callings that CEDA hadn't touched yet. There weren't many agents, as the infection had only spread to a few people at this point. But more agents were on their way, as the Infected increased. She sped down the dark roads, doing more than seventy, while Audrey sat in the passenger seat, humming some rock tune. Killy didn't pay attention. She was thinking about the man she'd seen in the shadows on the way down to the parking lot. He had a hood over his head, as if the dim late-afternoon light hurt his eyes. He had said nothing to the girls, but Killy did not trust him. She'd pushed Audrey along until the protesting girl started to swear, then threw her duffel bags in the back seat and slammed the doors shut. "Figure out where the hell we're going, Aud," she'd muttered. "I have no clue where Griffin is."

Audrey withdrew the maps from the glove compartment just as Killy threw the pickmeup into reverse and raced out of the Shady Motel parking lot. She paused only long enough to shift forward, when she noticed the man in the hoodie. He was crouched, honest-to-God _crouched_, on the railing overlooking the parking lot, like some sort of cat! Unnerved, she drove off, ignoring the honking as she cut off some dumbass in a Prius. But the thought still ranked with her, two hours later, sixty miles away from Callings. _Christ I need a smoke_, she thought, scowling to herself, and then remembered that all that good shit was gone. Even the booze was gone.

Shit.

For a moment, a sudden vision to came to her. Sitting in a little room, all on her own, drinking herself silly. Ah now _that _sounded nice. If only little rooms were safe. If only booze was safe. But she didn't even have one damn beer left. Not one. This was going to be a sober trip to Georgia unless she could find a friend willing to help her out. And usually she could find a few rule-breakers in every town.

"Hey, Aud?"

The humming stopped. "Yeah?"

"Check the goddamn box in the back."

"It's empty, Killy, I checked yesterday."

"Check the thing again dammit."

"Killy-"

"Check it again, Aud!" Her temper was definitely fraying. The glowing red needle on the speedometer rose to eighty. Audrey clicked her tongue and looked in the black metal box. It was empty, just like she knew it would be.

"It's empty, Killy. Like I said." "Fuck!" She pounded the wheel with a fist, but the speedometer sank down to sixty-five. Audrey relaxed, slightly, relieved they hadn't crashed. Killy grinned, and twitched strands of hair away from her face. "We're gonna go find a friend, Audrey. A good friend."

Audrey understood.

Killy checked in to a cheap motel and paid in cash, for two nights as before. This one was called the Cleric, a rather funky name for a hotel. They were in Pennsylvania still, but hell, they were getting closer. Audrey stayed in the room, listening to the television, while Killy Denton went off to find dinner and dessert. They had agreed it was easier this way, to prevent any bitches from stealing their shit. It was safe here, at least. There weren't any CEDA agents here. For now, there was the little window overlooking the parking lot and space number 87, which was their room number. Audrey glanced at the clock. It was 7:40 PM. Killy left at 7:00 exactly to go find food and other things. She groaned quietly. _God DAMN I'm hungry. _She slipped off the bed and turned off the TV. There was utter silence in the motel room. The thrum of passing traffic out on the highway pressed against her eardrums, making her wince. _I'll just . . . I'll just write in my journal. That's what I'll do. I'll write until Killy comes back. Then we'll eat pizza and have ice cream or whatever and sleep till early tomorrow. Then we're going to Griffin and we're going to have fun at a Midnight Riders concert. Maybe even get laid on the way. Yeah, that would be nice. Laid like . . . Well fuck who am I kidding just like Killy._

So absorbed Audrey was in thinking of such things that she never noticed the dark-blue pickup screech into the lot, a blue cloud bubbling out of its exhaust. She never saw the dark figure stagger up the stairs at a run, nor heard the pounding of footsteps on the floorboards. She did, however, hear the huge SMASH as a large object collided with the solid door, making the whole room shake. Audrey let loose a thin scream. "Who's there?" she yelled.

"OPEN THE MOTHERFUCKING DOOR AUDREY!" roared the voice. She recognized that voice, and ran to open the door. She wrenched it open, caught it in the chain, and swore vigorously. "Hurry!" cried the voice. "HURRY!"

"I'm sorry, Killy!" she screamed back. She tore the chain out and yanked open the door to reveal a blood-soaked blonde woman, bearing a bottle of Jack Daniels in her sweatshirt pocket, gleaming in the light. Vaguely it came to Audrey that the other shit- the good shit- was in the black box in the back of the truck. "What's wrong?" "Take the booze," she ordered, handing Aud the bottle. "There's more in the truck I just forgot to take it out of my pocket." She yanked the handles of the duffle. "Get your laptop now."

"Why?" shouted Audrey. "What's going on?"

"Hurry up you dumb bitch," said Killy flatly, yanking her gun out of the bag and flicking off the safety. "I got the food. Just hurry the fuck up."

Bewildered and hurt, Audrey pulled her laptop and cord out of the drawer. She didn't bother shutting it, just turned and fled. Meanwhile, screams were echoing through the dark night, and gunfire. "What's going ON!" she yelled.

"_It doesn't matter!_" roared Killy, yanking the back of the girl's black shirt. A huge hole opened in the back of the cloth, but Killy didn't seem to care. Audrey, half choking on her fear, raced down the hallways, hearing the roar of approaching doom, wondering when it all had turned into a clusterfuck.

~(!)~

**Several hours before:**

Katherine cruised the streets at twenty miles per hour, taking her time, blue eyes searching for a friend. She saw two men lounging outside the liquor store, smoking cigarettes. One wore a blue fedora cocked at a rakish angle; his thin, stringy blond hair hanging around his face. Killy grinned. Perfect.

Carefully she parked and locked the truck, then stepped out into the chilly night. As soon as one combat-booted foot touched the concrete, the mens' heads popped up. The man in the blue fedora grimaced as he took a deep drag of his cigarette. "Denton."

"You almost looked surprised, Thad," she responded, hands in her pockets.

"I thought you were in jail with Colin and Ciara," he said easily, ignoring his friend's quick bark of laughter.

Killy's eyebrow lifted. "They're in jail?"

"Yeah. Cops raided Colin's apartment two weeks ago. Ten people arrested, and some poor bastard who'd just been there to ask Colin to borrow a wrench. They refused to believe the guy wasn't there to buy."

Killy groaned. "You wouldn't happen to know if Jayjay still has stock would ya?"

Thad shrugged and flicked out his cigarette. "Yeah he does. Hurry though, he's running out fast."

Killy shook her head. "Good old JayJay. Always outta stock."

Thad frowned and blew his hair out of his face. Cigarette smoke drifted into Killy's nose, the familiar scent making her smirk. But Thad wasn't in a smirking mood. "His supplier has the Green Flu, girl," he said sternly. "Actually both of them do. Colin was sick when he got raided. He's in the prison's hospital infirmary. Anyway, JayJay's back in his old place. Cops don't go there no more."

"Is Ciara okay?"

This time, Thad's friend shifted on his feet and dropped his cigarette in the convenient disposal that stood outside the store's main door. "Ciara's dead," he said shortly. "She had the Flu bad. Turned into like one of those zombies so they had to euthanize her or whatever they call it."

Killy felt like she'd been punched. "Ciara's dead? For real?"

Thad's friend nodded. "I was at Mercy with my girl, and they brought in Ciara, and she was twisting around in her bed and I knew she was zombiefied already. Then they brought her downstairs on the elevator. That's where they took Chloe, my girl, when she started snarling and growling and trying to kill me. JayJay's healthy as an ox though, and will sell to anyone with cash." Killy frowned. "Sorry about that, man. Anyway, you wouldn't happen to be able to get me a couple bottles . . . .?"

Thad nodded and twitched his fedora in a kind of jerky salute. "To business, then, young Denton."

Twenty minutes later five bottles of Jack, two bottles of vodka, and three cases of beer were packed into the backseat of the pickup, which was parked behind the store where there were no cameras. Killy drove away after giving both men a friendly hug and an extra twenty for themselves. As she drove, she thought briefly of the last time she'd seen Thad. Before the Flu. Perhaps some small part of her had taken note of how muffled his voice had sounded, of how he kept pausing to catch his breath or cough into his sleeve. Perhaps his friend (whose name was Max) had also known, for he shifted away from Thad every time he coughed. Killy knew deep in her heart that Thad was sick. He had the Green Flu, and while Max had seemed well, she knew it was probably just a matter of time. Thad would join Ciara and Colin and Max's girl Chloe. He was doomed to suffer the same fate and spend the rest of his days wandering around like a lost soul, until starvation or injury led to his eventual death, a death he wouldn't even be aware of until his fever-damaged brain shut down for good.

As she drove to JayJay's apartment, Killy Denton said a brief prayer for the first time in ten years, praying to God to help the two young men.

She never saw Max or Thad again.

JayJay wasn't in his first floor apartment. He was in the alley outside of it, hanging with four friends and their girls. They were all piled onto an old couch, smoking cigarettes and talking. She parked in the lot and walked down to them, touching the knife in her pocket. She didn't trust JayJay, not as much as she used to. He was a tall, skinny guy with a lot of secrets, and during the brief time they were together, two years ago, she had learned more than she cared to about his dealers and his agreements with the landlord. He knew a little something about everyone, and worse, he knew things about Killy.

They did their business quietly and totally at leisure, eyes open for cops. By the time four hundred dollars had vanished into his ratty jacket and a Ziploc bag had vanished into Killy's, the sun was starting to drift toward the horizon again, and two of the couples had gone off, leaving only John, his girl Laurie, and two Killy didn't recognize. But she did recognize the look of vacancy on their faces. Only Laurie, however, seemed to be sick out of all six people present.

"Is anyone guarding your shit?" Killy asked in an undertone, glancing at some old man who passed the mouth of the alley with a trash bag.

"Roy and Steven are in there having a threeway with Roy's girlfriend," said JayJay dismissively, lighting another cigarette. "They're watching in between banging."

Killy frowned. "I totally didn't need to know that. It's gross."

"You're not a virgin, shut up," responded JayJay, in a voice only she could hear. "I know we didn't get to threeways, but . . . ."

"Shut up-"

Suddenly there was a huge bang, a shriek, and an inhuman roar. Instinctively JayJay threw himself at Killy, pulling her down and away from the wall. The roar had come from behind him, behind the brick wall. It was startlingly loud. Quite abruptly Killy realized that there had been a window above the couch, but there was no longer. Glittering daggers of broken glass lay scattered all about the pavement, and the couple who had been sitting on the couch leaped up and dashed off, shouting. Laurie, sitting beside the couch, screamed; John hauled her upward and shoved her in the opposite direction of the unnamed couple, down toward the parking lot. "What the fuck is up with you assholes?" roared Killy through the window. "Fucking doesn't make THAT much noise!"

Then she noticed the wall.

It was moving.

In time to the three muffled smashing noises she heard, the bricks in the wall trembled and began to fall. She howled, holding JayJay's hand tightly. John and Laurie paused, eyes wide with hysterical fear. There was a silence save for the noise of heavy breathing.

"The fuck?" whispered JayJay.

Then the wall imploded.

Flying chunks of brick all around her, Killy dropped to the ground, shouting, never letting go of JayJay. Through the hole she had one tiny glimpse of the apartment she used to know so well, and the bed she had slept in for over a year, and then it was blocked by a monster.

If any of her worst nightmares ever came true, none of them would match the extremity of this one. The creature was a mass of muscle in human form, its skin crimson and mottled with sores, face almost buried in its shoulder muscles. Huddled beneath its bulk were the bodies of three people who had obviously been crushed by the huge monster's fists, which were caked with blood, bone, and brains. Killy had a second to think of a killer ape before she threw up harshly and dashed off, shrieking, disoriented by a brick to the head, JayJay trailing behind her. Laurie and John were also screaming, and the monster was roaring, swaying unsteadily as it lumbered after them. It seemed to be using its fists to run like the apes did, but that was preposterous. No human had arms that long! And yet here it was, a freakish nightmare come to life, and it was chasing them.

"HURRY UP YOU FUCKS," roared Killy, shoving Laurie hard. The girl was lagging badly, gasping for air, unused to running this fast. Killy pulled Laurie up onto her shoulder. "JOHN! GO FASTER DAMMIT!" "That thing killed Marinda!" Laurie was wailing, pounding her fists on Killy's back. "It killed Roy and Steven! What is it oh my God what IS IT?"

Killy resisted the urge to groan and compensated with a burst of speed. JayJay was slightly in front of her, John slightly behind. The monster was stumbling, unsteady on its feet, overdeveloped arms swinging ponderously around and impeding its progress. Its roars, however, were not in the least bit muted. It had cleared the couch without much effort and was lumbering after them, breathing hard, snarling, eyes filled with merciless rage. It would catch them, and it would murder them.

The alleyway had never seemed so long before.

To give credit to John, there had always been a seed of courage blooming in him, suppressed but real, and it was this courage he drew upon halfway down the alley. He stopped, whipped around, and threw a broken beer bottle at the thing. The glass was only strong enough to produce tiny nicks on its skin, but the thing paused, glared at John, and continued running. John stood his ground, though his legs were trembling.

"JOHN!" shrieked Laurie, deafening Killy in one ear. Killy slid to a stop and whirled around. "What are you _doing_?"

"Buying you guys time!" he yelled, pulling out a gun from his pocket. He aimed and with trembling hands pulled the trigger twice. The first bullet missed, but the second one clipped the monster's knee. It snarled and seized a trash bin from the pavement. John stood firm, firing again, but the can sailed through the air and slammed into John with crushing force. The gun flew out of his hand and skittered across the concrete, coming to a rest not fifty feet from Killy's pickup. Such a short distance, but terror made it seem like a thousand miles.

"RUN!" shrieked John, as the monster bore down upon him. Its huge fists crushed the ground to either side of him, creating splits in the pavement.

"NO! JOHN!" weeping hysterically, Laurie beat at Killy's back. "LET ME GO!" "Numb cunt," muttered JayJay under his breath, turning away. "Hurry up Denton! We gotta get outta here!"

Killy opened her mouth to make a sharp reply, but a huge weight pushed her off her feet. Stars winked in front of her eyes, and blood filled her mouth. Laurie began to scream again, but Killy didn't feel her nearby. She had somehow managed to roll away with a surprising amount of agility when Killy hit the ground. Then a hand touched her face, and Killy screamed. John lay above her, eyes wide in his ruined face, blood pouring out of the back of his shattered skull. Shuddering in revulsion, she threw off the body and stood up, not wanting to look at the huge crimson spot marring the brick wall to her side. Sickening images of his broken body slamming into the wall, splitting open his head, his brains splattering everywhere, made her puke again. The tank-like monster beat its chest and picked up another garbage can, aiming this time for Killy. It was less than ten feet away. She saw nothing but hate in its eyes. The feeling of impending death washed over her. She closed her eyes.

BANG! The beast dropped the can, roaring in agony. Hot blood splashed against the pavement by Killy's feet. Her eyes flew open. One monstrous hand clamped over its eye, the tank monster thrashed around and tripped over the can it had dropped. Killy whirled around. Laurie's car was gone, but JayJay still stood at the mouth of the alleyway, holding John's gun. His face was pale and his eyes full of terror, but his mouth was firm and resolute. "GO NOW!" he yelled at Killy, firing again and catching the zombie in the throat. "GO!"

"_I ain't leaving you_!" Killy screamed back. "That thing'll kill you!"

"_GO NOW DENTON!_ _HURRY!_"

Weeping, unaware of her tears, Killy turned away and dashed for the truck, hearing JayJay fire a third time. She didn't turn around even when the beast growled, and JayJay cried out. He fired once more, his last bullet, as Killy leaped into the car and peeled out of the parking lot. Alarms started to sound all around her, as cops made their way to the scene, but by then, Killy was already out on the street and halfway to the Cleric Motel, speeding well over eighty miles per hour. By the time she arrived there, she had Jack Daniels in her veins and enough weed to calm her down enough to face Audrey. But hysteria was overtaking her despite this, and she raced up the stairs, shoving past a young woman and her baby, and threw herself at the motel room door.

She heard a scream from inside, and pattering feet. "Who's there?" Audrey yelled.

"OPEN THE MOTHERFUCKING DOOR AUDREY!" Killy roared back. There was the sound of scrabbling at the chain. "Hurry!" Killy cried, wiping her reddened eyes on her sleeve. "HURRY!"

"I'm sorry, Killy!" Audrey screamed. Finally the door came open, Audrey's dark face full of fear, and Killy shoved past her, her heart pounding. She looked around the room. Thankfully, all the stuff they had brought was still in the duffel bags. "Take the booze," she ordered, handing Aud the bottle. "There's more in the truck I just forgot to take it out of my pocket." She seized her own bag and rifled around. "Get your laptop now."

"Why?" shouted Audrey. "What's going on?"

"Hurry up you dumb bitch," said Killy flatly, anger and fear making her sharp. She finally found the gun and wrenched it out, jamming it in her pocket. _I need to get a better gun_, she thought wildly. Out loud she said, "I got the food. Just hurry the fuck up."

Looking hurt, Audrey ran to the drawer. Killy zipped back up her bag and shouldered it. By the time she turned around Audrey was standing awkwardly, bag in hand, looking frightened. She too heard the screams and sirens from JayJay's apartment. "What's going ON!" Audrey yelled.

"_It doesn't matter!_" roared Killy, yanking the back of the girl's black shirt. It ripped, but Killy didn't care. She hauled the girl by the scruff of the neck toward the door until Audrey began to squirm. The girl raced after her as Killy pounded down the stairs, holding her gun, scared that this was the end. She caught Audrey when she stumbled on the stairs, then half-carried her to the car. "We gotta hurry," she muttered.

"WHY?" shrieked Audrey.

"SHUT UP," Killy roared back, and threw the car into reverse. With a squeal of tires, the blue pickup shot out of the parking lot, Killy behind the wheel, still muttering, mind whirling.

Meanwhile, Audrey was swearing. "What's going on? Holy shit look out!" A siren and a honk sounded behind them. "Jesus Christ Killy you almost hit a cop! Why isn't he coming after us?"

"He'll be busy soon enough," muttered Killy, swinging onto the highway. "Too busy to deal with us."

And as the sirens ran on and on, the screams of the murdered rang in her ears, and she slowly succumbed to insanity.

**What do you think? Please leave reviews!**


	3. The Hunter

**Chapter 3: After the Storm**

The Midnight Riders tour bus had a flat tire.

Paul Flannigan cursed bitterly as he rolled the new tire into place, a flashlight in the other hand. The Riders were sitting comfortably in the bus, laughing and talking. He had been forced to drag his sorry bum out in the cold, driving rain to repair their tire. Paul was the driver, maintenance man, cook, courier, and everything under the sun, and when things went wrong, no matter what weather, he was the one forced to do everything.

It was Ox, that huge pig Ox, who had first heard the wooshing noise from the rear left tire, and seen the head of the nail driven into the treads. Better fix that, he had told Paul, a wicked smile on his face as he crushed a can of beer. So while they piled into the bus and waited to leave with the TV blaring, Paul fixed the detestable tire. In the rain. With a cold.

"Curses," he said to himself as he finished the job. "That darn Ox. Why did I take this job? I hate this. It's not fair. Why can't Jake pick up his own darn dirty underwear? Why can't . . . why can't Smitty accept that I don't swear? I'm a good man, raised by a good family, why do I need to swear and drink and do drugs and things?"

"Are you done yet?"

Paul jumped and whirled, pointing his flashlight in the direction of the voice. It was Dusty, the "brawler," the only person in the whole band Paul found tolerable. He was watching Paul with his arms folded, not caring about the rainwater drenching his gray t-shirt. Surprisingly, he wasn't scowling. In one hand was a mug of coffee, in the other, a donut wrapped in a napkin. "Uh, yeah," said Paul sheepishly. "I just got done."

Dusty didn't move. "Put the stuff away and come inside. It's cold."

Paul entered the tour bus ten minutes later, shivering and dripping wet, the ruined tire discreetly hidden between two Dumpsters. Dusty wordlessly handed him the coffee and the napkin. "Here ya go, man," he said. "You've been sneezing a lot lately, ya know that?"

Paul blinked. "Thanks," he said, and began to drink the coffee. The heat that rushed through his veins was incredibly satisfying. He stripped off his wet sweatshirt and hung it on the peg beside the door Smitty had installed two years before, when he too got tired of wet, disgusting jackets and sweatshirts lying everywhere. You will put them up on the pegs, he kept saying, or have your face ripped off. Paul had timidly agreed.

When Paul turned around, all four members of the Midnight Riders were on their feet and watching him, shoulder to shoulder. There was an odd expression on Ox's face, something that almost looked kind. That was the part that sent Paul's pulse skyrocketing.

"Uh, is something up?" Paul asked, trying to be jovial and calm his runaway heart. "Yeah, something is," said Smitty.

"Something is," echoed Jake. His eyes were hard, but his mouth trembled. "Very up ."

"Paul, you're sick." This was Dusty. His voice was gentle as he stepped forward. "You have the flu."

"I know," said Paul cautiously, biting into the donut. "I've had the flu for awhile."

"We think it's the Green Flu, Paul," said Jake. "We haven't gotten it yet."

"And we don't want to, ever," added Dusty.

"Because God knows we don't want to become zombies," finished Ox.

"That's just a gosh darn myth," scoffed Paul. "You shouldn't read those silly magazines, Ox, you know it's all hogwash."

"It's not, Paul," snapped Jake. "It's not. It's all true. Did you see that girl at the hotel? She wasn't like stoned or anything, man, she was sick. Badly sick. She tried to bite me later that night, when we was . . ." he struck a suggestive pose and continued. "I thought she was just in for that, but there wasn't anything in her eyes that meant she was enjoying anything that was going on. I shot her, Paul, killed her dead when she tried to bite me, and I ain't scared to shoot you too."

"Now hold on a minute," spluttered Paul, choking on his donut. "Just one minute, darnit!" "We're paying you for a complete tour season, all twenty-five grand." Ox put a briefcase on the tour bus table. "That's more than we originally offered but we've been total jackasses this whole tour, scared about this flu shit going on. Consider the extra five a grieving gift. We'll put you on a plane back to Philly tonight. You'll be back home by tomorrow."

"Why?" demanded Paul. "Because I have the flu? That's darn-well ridiculous! Why are you doing this to me? You can't do this, it's discrimination!"

"We can and we will!" yelled Ox, his face turning red. Of course his temper would be the first to rise. His huge hands curled into fists, and Paul heard the leather gauntlets he wore creak as they stretched. "You're sick, we're not!"

"I thought the Green Flu didn't bother the Riders!" Paul jeered, properly indignant. "That's what you told your . . . Your . . . Your cotton-picking friends! Your _fans_! That do all those . . . Drugs . . . And things like that! How could you do this to me! I help you!"

"God dammit, Paul-"

"That's enough, Jake!" snapped Dusty. "We said we were gonna be civil about this. Knock it off."

"I've done everything you have ever asked of me!" Paul shouted. "I did your laundry, I ran you coffee and booze even though I'm against it, and I turned my back when you guys wanted that life-ruining plant! When that JayJay fellow was here and he gave you what you wanted, I didn't report him to the cops! I should have!"

"You ain't gonna have my nephew arrested, you skinny bastard," said Jake flatly. "You ain't gonna."

"I should have!" screamed Paul, livid. "He's a bad man and so are all of you!"

"Would you _calm down_?" roared Ox. "We're paying you extra so you'll shut up, Flannigan! Now act like a man and take the money, and get out!"

"I'm not that sick!" protested Paul weakly, nearly driven to tears. "Just really tired. It hasn't affected my work at all."

"That's how it starts, you crazy bastard," said Ox. "Then comes the zombieness. You've got the cough, the fever, the everything. It's only a goddamn matter of time!"

"Shut up, Ox," said Jake wearily, running his hands through his graying hair. "Flannigan, take the twenty-five grand, or don't. But either way you ain't staying another night on this bus. I can't sleep at night fearing I'll wake up with a bite mark on me. I'm gonna stay alive as long as I can."

"Jake," said Smitty quietly. "Listen-"

"No, Smit-"

"I feel sick," said Paul suddenly, interrupting Jake's monologue. The force of his rage had drained him, leaving only nausea and a searing headache. Leaning forward on knees that trembled, he vomited all over the floor of the bus.

The Midnight Riders' reactions were instantaneous. Ox, closest to Paul, jumped back, shouting obscenities as if terrified that the vomit itself was poisonous. Smitty yanked Dusty backward, away from the invalid, and Jake whipped a gun from his jeans pocket. His hands were shaking as he pointed the barrel directly at Paul's eye.

"What the heck's wrong with you?" Paul choked, vomiting again. "I . . . I . . . I'm s-s-sick!"`

"You have the flu," said Jake calmly. "Now either get out of here, or I'll take you out into the parking lot like a mad dog and shoot you in the head."

"No!"

"Yes, Paul, go away."

"NO!" screamed Paul. There was vomit on his shirt, a fact that would normally horrify and disgust him, but he didn't care at the moment. He was full of a rage that was totally unlike his normal, easygoing self. His crazed, maddened eyes burned with hectic fire. "No way! No **DAMN** WAY!"

"Paul-" Dusty began, and then Paul Flannigan's hands wrapped around his throat with brutal force. Taken by surprise, Dusty kicked out with one foot shod in a combat boot. Paul took the blow on his hip and ignored it, hell-bent on murdering the rock star in his grip. Dusty may have been the kindest despite his reputation as the brawler, but everything was irrelevant in Paul Flannigan's mind, except that Dusty had_ interrupted _him, had _dared _to do so in a placating voice, and then _kicked _him. For this, in Paul's mind, Dusty the Brawler had to die.

"GET HIM," roared Ox, planting meaty hands on Paul's left forearm. Smitty seized the other, and together they wrestled the driver off of Dusty. It was a huge effort. Paul seemed to possess manic strength never before witnessed by the four members of the Midnight Riders. He was nothing like the easygoing but overbearing man they had, from time to time, enjoyed the company of over the past few years. Spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed, and the frenzied nonsense issuing from him was full of swearwords that he had not uttered in twenty-six years, when he first welcomed the Lord Jesus into his life after fifteen years of heathenism.

Together, Ox and Smitty hauled Paul Flannigan out into the parking lot, down behind an abandon warehouse. He was still screaming.

Jake followed them at a safe distance, using the moonlight for guidance when he could not longer see or hear the sick man.

Dusty, recovering in the driver's seat of the tour bus, heard two gunshots.

Five minutes later, three silent men in leather jackets boarded the bus.

Jake took the wheel.

The tour bus roared to life, and the Midnight Riders departed for Griffin, Georgia in silence.

~(!)~

Audrey Stone was weeping.

Hot, salty tears streamed down her face from eyes swollen red by her tears. Sweat was rolling down her face as the sun, hot for an October morning, began to rise. They were cruising at eighty in the middle of Virginia. Kept awake and sober by something she wouldn't explain, Killy was driving the pickup, her eyes flicking everywhere. They hadn't stopped except for gas since the previous night at the Cleric Motel.

Now, hungry for real food, miserable, too scared to take a drink out of the lone water bottle, Audrey released all her fear and sorrow into her cupped palms. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She missed her mom and dad, and mostly her baby sister, only four months old, the sweetest little girl in the world. She recalled something she had said to Killy, first thing upon meeting her. I'm strong, Killy, she had said. But now Audrey Stone knew that she was not strong. She was weak. Pain had made her weak, not strong like Killy. She would always be weak.

"Stop crying, Aud," said Killy, making Audrey jump. She hadn't spoken a word in a hundred miles. "It's distracting."

"I don't care," sniffed Audrey. "Quit being a bitch."

The truck slowed down to fifty. "I'm sorry, Audrey."

The girl glanced over at Killy. "What?"

Killy took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I . . . I've been keeping you in the dark."

Audrey's eyes filled with tears again. "What happened, Killy Kat? What happened out there?"

"I ran into a few friends. Old friends. They bought me booze. They used to do it for my dad when the liquor store in Callings wouldn't sell it to him. About five years ago, this was. When I started drinking, I went to them to help me get beer. My Dad didn't care, of course, he'd just lift a can or two once in awhile. Mom didn't know." There was a harsh tone in Killy's voice. "Or didn't care. Callings was a small town, I doubt she was ignorant. Either way, yesterday they got me some stuff, as friends, like, and then I went to see JayJay."

"Why were your friends in . . . that town with the Cleric?" asked Audrey.

Killy smiled. "Talville, Philadelphia? They lived there at first, and Dad used to go there on business. It was only sixty miles from Callings, after all. He met Thad's dad, Karl, and they found a mutual friendship in one another. Both alcoholics."

"Did Thad own that hat?"

Killy picked the blue fedora off the dashboard. "Thad gave it to me as a parting gift. Told me to remember him with it. He knew he was sick."

"And who was JayJay?"

"A boyfriend of mine, at one point," admitted Killy. "He was eighteen, I was fourteen. We dated for two years. I was always over at his apartment in Talville. When Dad went up there, he would take me with him. I would spend all day with Thad, and Karl before he died of a heart attack. Thad took over for his dad, running beer to _my_ dad, then we met JayJay one day. Sometimes he helped, or hung out with us, and we started seeing each other . . . And then one night Dad and I had a huge fight because I couldn't get JayJay to come over and buy him anything, and I ended up hitching to Talville, all sixty miles of it, and we . . . We had fun, JayJay and me."

"Did you break up?"

"It got too difficult to hang with JayJay. We broke it off last year. It was sad, but we were still friends, and he gives me discounts on stuff."

"Oh." Audrey looked out the window. "My first boyfriend wanted sex two weeks into our relationship. I had to turn him down. I always promised myself I'd give it up to the man I would marry. Guess that's not gonna happen with this flu going on, huh?"

There was a silence, and Killy shifted. "You'll get yours, Aud," she said eventually, sounding uncomfortable. "This flu can't be as bad as the apocalypse people claim it will be. You'll find a dude. Maybe even at the Riders concert."

"Did you fall in love with JayJay?" The question had popped out before she could turn on her verbal filter, and she clapped her hands over her mouth, looking scared and guilty. "Sorry, I remember when you said no personal questions, but . . . ."

"I've been bullshitting you too long," responded Killy. "Yeah, I cared about JayJay a lot. Fell in love? I don't know. He was my dealer first and my boy soon after, and sometimes he bothered me with threeway jokes, but he was always a great guy."

"Oh." Audrey looked at the blue fedora. "I didn't know you'd had a threeway."

"I never did," said Killy airily, waving a hand. "JayJay was a douche, very experienced with girls and probably drunken dudes from time to time, but he didn't pressure. Lots of nonsense when with friends, but fine when we were alone."

Feeling bold, Killy asked another question. "Did you love Will?"

Perhaps it was simply because Killy seemed in a divulging mood. Or maybe it was the fear and exhaustion messing with hr brain. But whatever impish, fleeting insanity made Audrey ask about Will shriveled when she saw how Killy Kat Denton was looking at her. It was a cold stare, devoid of sympathy, and Audrey suddenly became well aware of the gun hiding in Killy's Midnight Riders hoodie. It had as little mercy as she did.

"I'm sorry, Killy," she whispered.

"We had sex. Doesn't make him my love."

Hot tears began to fall again from Audrey's eyes. "You were ten feet away from me the whole time, not even caring."

"It was an abandoned house," snapped Killy. "We were stoned and drunk. We were all stoned, Aud, you and me and Jules and Will, then Jules died anyway so it's not like it mattered to him."

"You were so close to him. You told him your story before you told me."

"Audrey shut the hell up." Killy had gone back to brooding. Audrey turned to her journal and began to write.

An entry from Audrey's journal:

_October 10? 2009_

_Dear Diary,_

_It's morning again, after the events at the Cleric Motel, and I am hungry as heck for some real food. McDonalds is hard to choke down when you're speeding at like 90 mph and trying to avoid cops, who appear to be all converging down one street. I wonder what was going on._

_I asked Killy about everything and she wouldn't explain the event. Just sorta rambled about her friend whose fedora is sitting on the dashboard, and some boyfriend she lost her virginity to. I'm guessing she got the . . . Stuff from him. Then I was dumb and asked her about if she loved the guy, JayJay. She couldn't give an answer. Then I was even dumber and asked her how she felt about Will. That pissed her off._

_I can't understand her. I guess I never will. The house was someone's once, but it belonged to us then, and we were just sitting there in a room full of smoke. Killy and Will were just doing it in the bedroom and I was sitting in the next room, watching TV. Will was making noise and Killy was telling him to shut up, but heck what did I care? I was stoned for the first and last time in my life. Jules was off in a corner, hallucinating, and I think he probably died of the flu that night. Or early in the morning. I miss him. Jules was nice, and showed me some pretty good card tricks._

_Will died two days later. Killy shot him when he tried to bite me. I've been feeling this horrible guilt ever since, knowing that maybe we could have found him a vaccine or something to save him, knowing or at least guessing how much Killy liked him. I guess I don't know her as well as I thought I did. She's cold and she's only in this for herself and for the Riders. It seems like we've lost our way these past few days, and I hope we make better time from now on. I've always wanted to see the Riders in concert._

_I have to go now, we're stopping for food._

_Audrey_

~(!)~

It was past noon and getting hot in Virginia when Killy almost added another body to her count.

They were cruising again, full of good food, well-hydrated, a cooler full of bottled water tied down in the truck bed. Killy was singing, but it wasn't a Midnight Riders song this time, it was something by a foreign metal band. Audrey was watching the road, her journal lying forgotten in her lap. She was sleepily considering taking a nap when she saw the person standing beside the road. He or she staggered onto the pavement and collapsed right in the way of the truck. "Kat watch out!" she screamed, and with only seconds to spare Killy slammed her foot on the brake. Audrey shrieked as the seatbelt dug into her chest, hurt but still grateful for its presence. Then there was a minute of shocked silence.

"Jesus!" Killy added a string of curses to the list as she wrenched off her seatbelt. "Crazy freaking idiot what the hell." She whipped out her gun. "C'mere Aud. Let's see if this idiot has a death wish or something."

Audrey nervously stepped out of the truck, eye on the prone body lying facedown against the tarmac. Its hooded sweatshirt kept its face and hands from view. Killy stepped boldly up to it, but Audrey was more cautious. She had seen a zombie-man play dead, or unconscious, right before it leaped to life and tried to bite her. She had an odd feeling that this man or woman was just like that.

Killy knelt and poked the body with her gun. "Dude? You alive?"

Silence.

"Dude?"

A faint growl. What could have been a mumbled word.

Killy sat back. "Dude you're alive!" She rolled him, gently, and then screamed.

Audrey ran forward, her heart pounding with terror. "What's wrong?"

"Monster's got no friggin eyes," muttered Killy. "It's a god damn zombie."

The creature snarled and struggled to its knees, glaring down at Killy. Sores riddled his face, and blood seeped from his eye sockets. The hoodie, tied down with tape, was covered in mud and probably blood, and his pants were torn below the knee. He growled and crouched down until he was at eye level with Killy. There was a silence, where Killy didn't dare to breathe.

Audrey stepped forward. "Mister?"

A split second later the silence ended. With a screech, the monster tackled Killy. She yelped in surprise and landed on her back, the creature on top of her. She vainly tried to push him off, but it began to tear at her with its elongated claws. "OH MY GOD GET IT OFF!" she screamed, feeling the first of the deep slices rip her clothes and open up her skin. "GET IT OFF!" Audrey whirled around, terrified, unable to find anything to get the animal off her friend. There were no huge rocks on the side of the road, no pieces of wood, nothing. Hopelessness overwhelmed her. Tears ran down her face. "AUDREY, **HELP** ME!"

Sobbing, Audrey raced around to the back of the truck, trying to block out the noise. She leaped into the back of the truck and grabbed the only thing she could find, a metal toolbox. She fell out of the bed, scraping her forearms against the pavement, and struggled to her feet. She managed a weak trot back around the truck, where the monster was now biting at Killy's neck. The sweatshirt he wore was covered in her blood, but Killy was still viciously fighting.

"Hold still Kat!" yelled Audrey, and swung the toolbox. It clipped the monster in the head, but he didn't stop. Audrey swung again with more force. The thing fell over. He looked stunned. But Audrey wasn't done yet. She seized the Glock out of Killy's jacket and blew its brains out all over the road.

Silence again, a silence that filled Audrey with agony. She had killed a man. A sick man, a murderous man, but a man nonetheless. Gasping against overwhelming nausea, she knelt on the ground away from the body. Her knees were shaking. Then she threw up violently on the side of the road.

It was a few minutes before Audrey felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned. It was Killy, covered in blood but alive. Her hoodie was shredded. Blood leaked out of the holes. Her hair was filthy and there was blood dotting her cheek, but she was grinning. "Good job, Aud," she croaked.

Audrey wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "I killed him," she said in shock. "I killed him, Killy."

"You saved my ass." Killy unzipped her hoodie and pulled out the stuff from its pockets, wincing as she did so. Audrey helped her remove it. Then came the t-shirt, hanging by a few threads. Indifferently Killy ripped it off and walked over to the truck bed in bra and jeans. Her back was bruised, and her front was a crisscrossing map of shallow scratches. Three of the deepest had sliced from her left shoulder to nearly her right hip. They bled freely. "I'll be damned if that thing didn't leave a mark," she muttered. "Tried to bite my neck, too. I think I broke its teeth."

"Well aren't you a fighter," joked Audrey. She wiped tears and sweat from her eyes. "You dumbass."

"I was dumb," admitted Killy. "Really goddamn dumb." She looked at Audrey. "You didn't freak out. Nice job. I think we just might make it to this concert alive."

Audrey laughed. "Sure we will."

They bandaged Killy as much as possible, using bottled water to clean off her skin and the remnants of her shirt to bind the cut. Audrey also needed a bottle, to wash the sweat and the blood from her own face. When Killy was bandaged, she limped over to the dead creature. Audrey followed close behind, worried. "Killy you might not want to move, you'll injure yourself."

"I'm fine," she mumbled. "It's dead." Gingerly she knelt beside it, wincing at the powerful smell of blood and grime. "I recognized him, is all. I didn't know at first because he wasn't wearing his glasses, but . . . It's the guy we ran into in Callings, at the motel. You know, the guy you almost tripped over? I saw him when we left. He was crouching on the railing and watching us."

"Has he been following us this whole time?" whispered Audrey.

Killy shrugged. "No clue. He's wearing the same clothes he was then. The jacket's the same. I know it sounds weird but I'm sure he's the same dude."

"That's crazy." Audrey wiped her brow. "Can we go now, please? I need a shower."

"I need booze," said Killy glumly. "But I can't, it makes your blood thin. I'm not gonna die in Virginia."

"What a way to go, though," Audrey joked. "Drunk and a smile on your face."

"All the booze in the world isn't gonna make me like Virginia," grumbled Killy. "Let's go, Aud, I'm dying here. We're gonna find an ER and get me stitched up, and then we're heading down to good old Griffin Georgia."

Audrey helped Killy up, and found her a shirt in her bag. It was white, but Killy was still terrifying in white. Carefully Killy climbed back into the truck. It roared to life, down the road, headed for Georgia once more.

_October 10? 2009_

_Dear Diary_

_Oh. God. I killed a man. A man Killy says she saw in Callings. He was a monster, and he attacked Killy. She's all bloody and pale and I'm super-scared. I wonder if that stuff in the back will make me forget everything. I wish I could. But if I do then she'll die, because she's not as okay as she says she is. Her hands are shaking on the wheel. I'm praying we get to the next town ASAP. I've never seen such a wild emptiness. This is Virginia? How odd._

_I was never very religious but Daddy was. I will pray for Killy today, because without her, I'm lost. Please, God, help us._

_Audrey Stone_

* * *

><p><strong>Well, I would love a few reviews for this. I'm going to finish the entire story before I rework the not-so-good parts.<br>Have a lovely day, everyone! :)**


	4. The Hospital

**Chapter 4: Virginia**

The nurse at Virginia Mercy had purple fingernails.

That was all Killy Denton remembered of her whole first night in Virginia. The nurse was a tall black woman who could have passed for Audrey's mom, and she had purple fingernails. Her dark eyes were wide with concern, but Killy did not care. The blood loss had begun to take its toll, and she could barely answer the questions the purple finger nailed nurse asked. The doctors stitched her up, asking even more questions all the while, but only Audrey was sensible enough to answer them. About Killy's family history she could not say, but Killy herself knew, and sluggishly thought her answers as the doctors worked.

"What is your name?"

_Katherine Bite-Me Denton._

"How old are you?"

_Old enough._

"Do you have a history in your family of heart problems?"

_Nope, just alcoholism and drug abuse._

"Are you under the influence of alcohol?"

_Not currently. You might find a bit of weed in my blood though. Lots of it, actually. It's pretty good stuff._

"How did this happen?"

_I got attacked by a hoodie-wearing monster that's probably been following me since I left home. Now shut up, Doc, I'm tryna sleep._

Mumbles. Audrey's voice, slipping in and out of coherence. What sounded like a prayer. The doctors mumbling more, and then Audrey crying. _What's she crying about? I'm gonna live, after all, it's not . . . It's not like this is the worst I've ever had._

And then an internal voice spoke up, one that sounded like the cute and tired doctor she had met in Callings. **Your ribs might have been broken, they were already injured. You kept thinking they were broken in the days before you met Audrey, but now I think they're _really_ broken_._**

_Shut up, Doc._

**Katherine. Start being sensible. Did that encounter with the Tank not clear your mind? You need to start trusting Audrey.**

Killy had begun to refer to the monster that killed her friends as a Tank. Not just because it was the size of one, but also because she privately believed that it would take something like a Mark V to take that bastard down. But the voice was not real, and it pissed her off that she was reduced to speaking to her subconscious. __You are a combination of hysteria, blood loss, and morphine. Shut the hell up.__

The voice faded. She slept.

Some time later, she awoke suddenly, in a brightly-lit white room with a tile floor and long blue cloth curtains around the bed she slept in. "The hell?" she croaked.

A blurry form stood over her. "You're awake," said Audrey's worried voice. "I'm so glad. I think they gave you too many drugs. I told the nurse we couldn't pay and she said we didn't have to, just have to get our parents."

"Did she call . . . My dad?"

"I don't know." Audrey sounded sad. "She asked me for my home number, and tried to call my mom and dad but . . . ."

"They're both dead, aren't they?"

Audrey nodded, though tears were blooming in her eyes. "Mama died first, and Daddy three days later. He was a doctor, you know, at Mercy. He told me he saw Patient Zero. But he refused to tell me any more. He said the military wouldn't allow it. But I think he brought it home. Before either of them died, my baby sister did. Angela. She died in a few days. Never even became a zombie. Mama cried and cried and cried, and the last time I saw her she was sick with it. We're black, you obviously figured out, but when I saw Mama . . ." Audrey closed her eyes and managed to choke out, "her skin was ash gray. She was turning white. A sick off-white. Her hair was so lovely before, and I used to tell everyone, when I was small, that I had the prettiest Mama in the whole world. Her hair was turning white too. And her eyes were constantly red from crying, and it looked like they almost glowed red sometimes. I was scared of her. If you bothered her or came close to her she'd start screaming and getting really angry. She chased me out of the house one time, and I ran away from her, and then I met you . . . ." She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

Killy winced. "Aud, don't cry . . . ." She reached out to the girl.

"I miss Mama," Audrey wept. "I miss Daddy, I miss Angela. She was only four months old, Kat! Four months! Why did God take a baby only four months old?"

"It's not God," said Killy solemnly. "It's humanity. Whatever this Green Flu is, it's not the product of Nature. Someone in government fucked up, and now we're all suffering. Don't blame God, Audrey."

"Don't you sound religious," sniffed Audrey.

Briefly Killy considered showing Audrey the crucifix hidden in her bra, then discarded the idea. She didn't want to remember how religious her mother had been. She hated the superstitious idea that God was always watching her, because her life of sin was not something she wanted to share. But she kept the cross anyway, because it was her last link to her dead family.

With care for her wounds, Audrey hugged her friend briefly. Killy awkwardly returned the hug. "We should sneak outta here," said Audrey.

Killy wiped her eyes surreptitiously, suddenly businesslike. "Are my clothes and my bag somewhere?"

"Yeah, here." Audrey handed Killy a plastic hospital bag. "They said we could go, once you were checked out. The nurse said she'd check in at least every hour, but she last checked in at three and it's seven now."

"Whatever, let's go."

"I think the building's being quarantined."

Killy halted in the act of pulling on her jeans. "What?"

"I went to the cafeteria earlier to grab some stuff to eat and . . . Two of the nurses were talking. I think the Flu's traveling faster than we are. They said they've had like seven zombies taken away in CEDA vans in the last four days. They were scared you had it too because, well, they thought your cuts look like the result of one of the mutations of the disease."

"Hold on." Killy pulled up her jeans and buttoned them deftly. "_Mutations_?"

"Yeah. They call the one that claws at you a Hunter. That's the one you got attacked by. There have been two more reports of them attacking people who aren't infected yet."

_The Tank's a mutation too,_ Killy thought. Aloud she said "Come on, Audrey, let's get the hell outta here."

Audrey rifled through the cabinet in the corner, producing some rolls of gauze pad and medical tapes. Killy finished dressing and put her hood over her head. There were some small bloodstains on it, but nothing that would raise suspicion. They slipped out of the hospital room, Killy limping along behind Audrey, who walked confidently. They avoided all the nurses in their scrubs, the harried doctors with tired and haggard faces. They reached the elevators without much trouble, but when the doors opened on the ground floor, they found it crowded with people. The central desk in the middle of the large square room was obscured by dozens upon dozens of terrified men and women who coughed, sneezed, and hacked up phlegm into tissues. "It's been like this all day," muttered Audrey. "Half of them don't even have the Green Flu. They all just think their allergy, or cold, or regular flu, are the deadly disease."

Killy's forbidding eyes stared around the room. "This is madness. God-damn government. What the hell do they have to screw with everything for?"

"They're making a vaccine," said a passing nurse confidently, wheeling a young man with a cast on his leg into an exam room.

"Like hell they are," grumbled Killy. "Come on, Aud, we're not sick, let's get outta here."

There was no difficulty trying to leave the hospital. Only one security guard even noticed them, and his eyes were bright and glassy with fever. He never spoke a word, not when Killy limped past, reeking of sweat and dirt and blood, and not when Audrey nearly tripped him. He frowned and drifted off, stumbling a little. "Zombie," muttered Killy. "Damn zombie in the making and nobody's noticed yet."

Audrey shivered. "Let's hurry."

They snuck past a stern-faced nurse and dashed out the door of the ER into the general part of the hospital. Bewildered, Audrey glanced around. "I think we took a wrong turn," she said, laughing nervously. "Killy?"

Silence.

"Killy?"

"Right here, Aud."

She turned. Killy was standing before a television, frozen, oblivious to the people pushing past her. "What's up?" Audrey asked hesitantly, coming to look at the television. It was a news report. On screen, a lovely blonde woman in a smart blue suit was talking about something. Audrey listened close, trying to hear over the bustling crowd.

_"We have determined that CEDA has taken the entirety of Talville into quarantine. No one is allowed to enter or leave. Meanwhile a train bearing 'live specimens' has been seen, armed to the teeth with military personnel, leaving the Talville train station. The apartment building on South 133rd street has been cordoned off. The cause of the apparent gas explosion has not been identified. As you may well remember, three bodies were found on the lower floor, crushed to death by the fallen wall. They were identified as Roy Chambers, 21; Steven Harper, 20; and Marinda Stewart, 19. A fourth was found a hundred feet away with a broken skull massive internal injuries, probably thrown from the wreckage of the building. The identity of this person was revealed to be John Casten. A fifth was also found dead, but unidentified. We now go to Livvy Williams with the continuing report. Livvy . . . . ?"_

Killy stalked off, and when she passed, Audrey swore later than she actually heard that heartless bitch sob, just once.

~(!)~

Five hundred miles from Paul Flannigan's body, the Midnight Riders sat in their bus, watching the sky. It was Georgia, Georgia at last, but the Peach Pit was being used as an evac station rather than a concert hall. Huge crowds, some wearing Midnight Riders t-shirts, waited in anxious lines for the evac to finally reach them.

"This sucks," said Ox glumly.

"Big time," agreed Jake.

"I'm hungry," complained Smitty.

"You're always hungry," snapped Dusty. He wiped his face on his sleeve. "So, if we can't do our show here, and all our stuff's already set up for us, what happens now?"

"We take it all back and go down to the next stop," was Smitty's logical reply. "That little town with the shitty venue."

"Rayford?" Ox wrinkled his nose. "I hate that place."

"You hate everywhere," retorted Jake.

"Will both of you be quiet?" demanded Dusty. "What the hell are we gonna do?"

"Well, we have our guitars still. Our own personal ones. Mics and cables and shit too."

"But none of the recorded stuff," argued Ox. "We'll sound like shit live!"

"So what?" asked Smitty sharply. "We gotta continue this tour, to pay off that sweet little waitress in Tampa . . . And all the other women we may go for during the tour. And the booze and everything. We can't live the way we do without serious cash."

"I need a new gun," agreed Dusty.

"Screw the tour, people are sick and dying . . . ."

"We need to do this!" snapped Smitty. "Shut it, Ox!"

Suddenly there was a rap at the window. An official-looking agent stood impatiently on their doorstep. Smitty flung the door open, nearly knocking the man over. "WHAT?" he roared. "We're having a goddamn argument here! Can't you wait till we finish fighting?"

"I'll come back when you've beaten the shit out of each other," snapped the agent. Taken by surprise, Smitty stared. "Now listen, biker, because what I have to say is important. We're evacuating all non-essentials from this area via helicopter. You count as non-essentials. You have to go to the Peach Pit Arena and sign in with the head agents there to receive medical attention, and you will be shipped to Outpost DC."

"We can't leave our bus!" exclaimed Smitty. "What the hell is your problem?"

"You have to. It is the order of the United States Government, and CEDA."

Dusty stood up and ambled forward, thick combat boots making loud thuds against the floor of the bus. He stepped down next to the agent and Smitty. "It seems you don't know anything about the Riders," he said slowly. "We don't give a damn about the United States Government." Then he punched the agent right in the face. Smitty heard the dull crack as the poor man's nose broke. Blood exploded outward and the man fell backward, stone unconscious.

There was a shocked silence. Ox and Jake peered over at the open door. "Damn, Dusty," said Ox mildly. "I finally respect you. You proved yourself to be a real brawler."

"For the first time in ten years," added Jake, who smirked.

"Shut up," responded Dusty. "There are bound to be more agents everywhere. They'll know we haven't checked in with the assholes in the Pit."

"We can't leave our bus," Ox repeated. "We can't."

"We won't," assured Dusty. "They can't keep us forever. Once we get to the Outpost or whatever, we'll bribe them to let us go back to Rayford."

"But the _bus_ . . . ."

"Ox, shut up."

"Dammit what about our bus?"

"Leave that to me, Ox. Leave that to me."

~(!)~

CEDA Agent Aaron Miles strode across the Whispering Oaks parking lot, sweat gleaming on his forehead. It was turning out to be a cool day, but he was hot and feverish nonetheless. He knew he was sick, but he was trying to hide it from the world, scared to infect his friends and family.

He crossed the pavement to the giant black tour bus, garishly colored in bright orange. He knocked on the door, trying to be authoritative. But he was sweating and trembling, and not just from nervousness over facing the prominent rock stars. He was terrified that CEDA would not develop a vaccine, and he would become a zombie, and then die. Frowning, he knocked on the door again. A man opened it, a fat man with long black hair and a mustache, wearing a vest over his white t-shirt. He frowned. "Yeah?"

"Good afternoon, sir," said Miles nervously, sneezing lightly. "Ah, pardon me, that was my allergies." It was stunning how easily he lied now. "You are the Midnight Riders, yes? I'm sorry I don't really listen to your type of music . . . ."

"What's wrong with our music?" demanded the big man. He raised his fist, and Miles flinched. But a second man came up behind him and set a hand on his shoulder before he could get violent.

"Easy, Ox," this second man cautioned. "What can we do for you, son?"

"My superior, Agent Myers, was supposed to inform you, you see, we-"

The man cut him off. "Oh yeah we know, Myers already left. We're coming."

"Excellent, Mr. . . . .?"

"Dusty." He looked over his shoulder. "Smitty's coming now."

There were a series of thuds, and then a third man came into view, bearing a huge suitcase. His arms were taunt with the strain of holding the bulging case. "Let's go, fellas." He scowled at Miles. "Come on, Agent Screwup. I packed the clothes, the least you can do is be a tour guide. Show us to the check-in."

Miles coughed again, lightly. "Let's go. Someone will be along to take care of your bus. It will be waiting for you when the Green Flu passes. You can pick it up in Outpost DC." There was another lie for the list. Subtly he tried to prevent the men from seeing the huge roll of orange tape, stamped with _CEDA Quarantine_, that hung from a hook on his belt.

The three men exited the bus and stood in a line, staring coldly at Miles, who suddenly felt very small. All three of the rock stars were wearing leather jackets, gauntlets, and heavy boots. Even the fat one, Ox, looked frightening. His expression was nothing short of murderous. If there had been a rock nearby, Miles had a feeling that the big fat man would bash in his face. "Is this all of you?" asked Miles, nervous again.

"Yep." The three men answered in perfect harmony, Miles noticed. That was creepy. Uneasily he smiled and led them away from the bus. They trailed in a line, Ox first, Dusty last. Ox strode confidently just behind Agent Miles, who was distracted by the nagging feeling of having lost something.

When his pocket vibrated, Ox could only grimace. How he hated this damn thing. He pulled out the cellphone in his pocket to read a text from Dusty. _All of us are painted on the bus lol _it said.

Ox surreptitiously typed back _this guy is such a dumbass only ceda agent Ive liked so far._

Two seconds later, Dusty snorted aloud with mirth, and Ox smirked. This was going to be fun.

~(!)~

Jake watched the four men leave through a gap in the curtain. As soon as the door to the bus had closed, he had crawled out from under his bed and watched the men cross the parking lot toward the Peach Pit. He briefly thought out a prayer to whatever God he still halfway believed in, and slipped out of the bunkroom. _Jesus Christ, we're never gonna get out this,_ he thought, glancing around the main part of the bus. _Now where did Ox leave the keys?_

Trying not to panic was his first priority. He took a deep breath to steady himself and calmly glanced around the bus's interior. There was the table, covered in magazines but with no keys. There was the couch, snug up against the division between the driver's seat and the living space, bolted to the floor. There was the table in front of the couch, also bolted down, covered in wires and cables and a broken guitar. He stepped up on top of the table and peered into the luggage compartments. Beer bottles, a pair of jeans, half a dozen drumsticks, more magazines, and a DVD player. Awesome. He checked the other side of the luggage compartment. Even more magazines. Jesus Christ, Ox sure loved _Home and Garden. _Why, Jake was not sure. He snorted. The sound was very loud in the empty stillness of the bus. Unnerved, he checked on the floor. No keys. Then he stepped down to the driver's seat. Nothing on the dashboard. Nothing under the seat. He swore. The silence was seriously beginning to nag at him. It was too quiet. No drunken shouting, no snoring, no bitching. A powerful wave of sadness washed over him. The possibility that he would never see Ox, Smitty, and Dusty again was just too traumatizing to embrace.

Jake sat in the driver's seat, glum. His buddies were gone, he could not find the keys, and for some reason, his ass hurt. He scowled and stood back up. There were the keys, glinting in the afternoon light. "How did I not check on top of the seat?" he muttered to himself, and then glanced around. Ten minutes without the guys and he was already talking to himself like a mad man. Dear God, he needed a drink.

Carefully he picked up the keys. They felt warm in his hand, warm from the sun and from his well-padded ass. He inserted the bus key into the ignition and sat down. "Now," he grunted. "Let's see what this old monster can do."

~(!)~

Agent Miles dropped the three men off at the VIP check-in. They seemed cheerful enough, talking and joking and elbowing each other. Only after they were boarded onto their own private helicopter with three armed government workers, a pilot, and a CEDA agent (A passing acquaintance of Miles', a man named Nicholas Sweet, very nice man, three young children) did Miles finally retire to the CEDA tent to check in with his superior, Agent Torrance.

"Agent Miles, are the Midnight Riders gone?" asked Torrance, opening his notebook the second Miles ducked into the tent. His folding card table, propped up with boxes of files, was covered with medical records and memos from the government and department head. He pulled out a pen from his coffee mug and held it poised over the names of what had to be Dusty, Smitty, and Ox.

"Yep, Mr. Dusty, Mr. Smitty, and Mr. Ox are on their plane to DC," he said cheerfully, sitting down at the chair and stifling another cough. God, this flu was getting frightening. If he coughed in front of Torrance, it was all over.

"Mr. Thorne?" A small wrinkle creased Torrance's wide, smooth forehead.

"What?"

"Jake Thorne, the bassist?"

"There was Dusty, Ox, and Smitty."

"Yes, Mr. Duston Sloan, Mr. Allan 'Ox' Sanchez, and Mr. Gregory Smith, or Smitty. But you did not see Jake Thorne?"

Miles' eyes widened with horror. "They said there were only three . . . ."

"Idiot!" cried Torrance, leaping to his feet. Papers spilled everywhere and lapped around his ankles. "They're all painted on the _bus_!"

"The bus?" Sweat stood out clearly on Miles' forehead now. "I didn't notice."

"_WHERE _is the bus?" demanded Torrance in a hoarse roar. When he drew himself up, he towered over Miles. "WHERE IS IT?"

"In the parking lot! Outside the Screaming Oak entrance! Section B2!" Miles wailed, terrified. "Don't kill me!" Torrance sneered in disgust at seeing the man cower and stomped over to the opening of the tent. There was half a second of silence, and then Torrance exploded into the most colorful series of curses Miles had ever heard before. Miles scurried over to Torrance's side. "What's wrong, sir?" he started to say, but the words died in his throat before he had the chance. Dark gray eyes took in the view on the other side of the tent flap, and as he watched, even Torrance's increasingly-nasty curses seemed to fade away. The scene outside had captured his full attention. Fear and horror began to flood his veins with ice.

Oh, God, this was _bad. _Bad bad bad. Worse than the flu currently ruining his health, worse than the affair he was secretly having, worse than the coming apocalypse. This was the worst screw-up he had ever been a part of.

"Agent Miles?"

Miles turned to Torrance. He was remarkably calm. The brick-color had faded from his face, but a vein still twitched in his strong jaw. Miles relaxed a tiny bit. At least he wasn't cursing anymore.

"Yes, Agent Torrance?" he asked hopefully.

Torrance smiled, but his green eyes still threw off sparks of rage. "If we get out of this, I'm going to fucking kill you."

~(!)~

The Midnight Riders tour bus roared past three CEDA agents in airtight suits. Their shocked yells and demands to halt fell on deaf ears. The bus picked up speed. Jake winced as he yanked the wheel to the right. This bus was not built for delicate maneuvers.

It had been slow going at first, trying to get the damn thing out of the lot. He had to navigate around a few barriers. More than one had ended up under the bus. But finally he had gotten free of the maze and out into open concrete, a free path all the way to the highway. Then the CEDA agents finally noticed he was going in the wrong direction, and that he certainly wasn't wearing one of their official polo shirts. First they had stepped in front of the bus, which was still tooling around at walking speed. One of them raised his arm and hailed Jake from a safe distance. Hey, brother, the gesture seemed to say. Come on back, man. That ain't the way. Come on back, it's safe here.

Jake had responded with the most easily-recognizable sign in the world, and the arm dropped. Grinning like a loon, he gradually began to pick up speed, and the agents scattered before he turned them into road kill. They were shouting now, but it was not audible to him. This bus was damn-well soundproof. The expressions on their faces told the story. There was no more easygoing "hey man" body language. Now the agents were pissed off. In a few minutes, they would probably shoot him.

He pressed down on the accelerator. A bright orange cone succumbed to the crushing weight of the tour bus's wheel. There was a golf-cart following him, a green one with the CEDA stamp on it. As if that thing could chase him. He slammed his fist against the horn, and the golf cart screeched to a halt, colliding with another barrier. Jake laughed like a crazy man and whooped, "Take that CEDA!"

Dear God, this was crazy. Totally insane. He couldn't expect to make it out. He expected these bastards to pop the tires, or plant explosives in front of him. But they didn't. They seemed even less organized than they pretended to be. He floored the accelerator with one booted foot. The bus roared, smashing aside two barricades, and crashed through the main gate in a spray of wood and plastic quarantine tape. Free, free, Jake Thorne was finally free, and with this vehicle to safety in his command, he could drive forever on the open road. Provided CEDA didn't blow his ass up.

"Dear God, help me," he muttered. His mind was scrambling. Free, free, free. For the love of God, he was going to get out of CEDA control! He had to get to Rayford. First, some practical thinking. He took a deep, calming breath. Then he glanced at the gas gauge. ¾ of a tank left. Perfect. Time to put some distance between himself and the defunct Whispering Oaks park.

* * *

><p><strong>Send reviews, I love them!<strong>


	5. Quarantine

**I'm sorry it took so long to post this new chapter. My beta/good friend has been gone at band camp, and dealing with some sadness in her life. She hasn't been up to helping me lately. She is such a good friend, and I'm grateful for her help. I couldn't do this without her. She finally got herself together and cheerfully fixed two chapters for me, to make up for her long period of inactivity. So, here is chapter 5!**

**Chapter 5: Quarantine**

The CEDA agents arrived just as Killy Denton hauled her bruised, battered body into the driver's seat of the blue pickup. They drove up in their stupid little green golf cart and one of them had the nerve to tap her shoulder as she was pulling herself into the seat, ass held high in the air, knees trembling with the weight of her solid body. Startled, Killy paused and lost her tentative grip on the center console. She fell backward. Her jeans-clad butt collided with the chest of the man behind her, driving the breath from his body. He fell back onto the concrete. She managed to catch herself on the door, and turned around to glare at the idiot.

"The hell is wrong with you?" she snarled at him. Then all the rage drained away. The man wore a CEDA badge pinned to his breast. He looked up at her with a shocked expression. "Shit . . . ."

"CEDA, ma'am," the man said cautiously, picking himself up with a fussy grace, smoothing down his blonde hair and smart suit. "You need to come with us, ma'am, this building is being quarantined . . . ." "Like hell!" said Killy crossly, jumping to the ground with a wince. Her footfalls echoed in the huge, low-ceilinged parking garage. "I ain't going with you!"

The agent scowled. She could tell from the look in his gray eyes that his irritation could soon turn into violence if she wasn't careful. The man was exhausted, if the dark shadows under his eyes were any clue, and exhausted men tend to lose their patience rather quickly. "This building is being used as a testing facility for anyone who has come in contact with the Infected," he said arrogantly. "You obviously have done so, as your plates are from Pennsylvania. Were you in Fairfield at all?"

"No," said Killy automatically. The lie came quickly and easily, without hesitation or stutter. He actually seemed to believe her. "What happened there?" She asked the question nonchalantly enough, but her trembling hands were hidden in her sweatshirt pocket.

"Mercy Hospital in Fairfield . . . ." The agent heaved a huge, dramatic sigh. "Well I'm not supposed to tell you, but I might as well. After all, it's not like we're getting out of this."

Killy frowned. "Go on." The agent beckoned Killy to lean in close. She obeyed as well as she could manage, grimacing when her back popped. "What happened?" she asked gruffly, trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice. "What happened in Fairfield?" He bent close, his lips nearly touching her ear. Finally, after all this time, she was going to know what happened to the remnants of her family. Her hands clenched into cold fists, anticipating disastrous information. She was so excited, even his warm breath on her ear didn't faze her. He opened his mouth, and she closed her eyes. Finally. Some news.

"What happened?" she muttered. "What happened, man?"

He paused for a second. The suspense was killing her even faster than her injuries. Then, the tiniest whisper in her ear.

"They got quarantined and stopped asking stupid questions."

Killy recoiled from him. He grinned at her, displaying teeth that were stained yellow with nicotine. There was no humor in the grin. "You bitch," she said in disgust. Anger and disappointment rushed through her like a dagger through her heart. "You bitch."

His grin widened, but now it seemed to Killy that he was not smirking. He was baring his teeth at her like a wild animal. His nametag glinted in the light. _R. Vane_, it said. She frowned. Where had she heard the name Vane before?

"Who are you?" she asked him slowly.

He blinked. His smile withered. "That is of no importance." Agent Vane straightened his dark green tie and smoothed down his light blonde hair. "Come with me, Miss, and take a shower while you're at it," he said airily. "You reek." She flipped him off, tossed her hair, and glanced into the cab. Audrey was climbing out of the passenger seat, flanked by two agents wearing sunglasses, one of whom slammed the door after her. The man led the party across the dim parking garage. He did not speak to anyone, though Killy tried her hardest to ask him questions about Fairfield. That smile stayed on his face, fixed and maniacal, until they reached the stairwell that would lead them up to the back courtyard by the entrance doors. It was a long climb, as Killy had parked on the lowest level of garages and taken the elevator up to the ER.

As they all crowded through the door into the main stairwell, silent sunglasses-wearing agents taking up the rear, Audrey noticed the spray-painted B3 on the wall beside the red metal door. B3 and B2, she remembered, were the two levels of garage. She had seen the map of the building while waiting for Killy to wake up. B1 was the morgue, laundry, and storage rooms. You needed a special cardkey to open the door to that floor.

"Start climbing," Agent Vane ordered Killy. She sneered at him and stumbled up the first stair. Vane shoved a hand into her back. Unsteady on her feet, she pitched forward and would have slammed her face into the stair if Audrey hadn't slipped out between the men flanking her and caught her friend.

"Thanks, Aud," she mumbled, relief and appreciation written across her sweaty face.

"Anytime, Kat," said Audrey encouragingly. "I'll help you up the stairs."

Killy opened her mouth to reply, but Agent Vance interrupted briskly. "Now is not the time for talking, ladies," he said, voice too cheerful and condescending for Audrey's liking. "Please start moving now." This time it was Audrey who flipped him off. She hated being talked to like a little kid. Vance laughed, but the two agents behind him said nothing. They were as silent as the grave.

Gingerly Audrey helped Killy up the stairs, and slowly, as they ascended, the blue railing of floor B2 was replaced with the red railing of floor B1. The no-access floor. They reached the red door, Audrey frowning and worried, Killy pale-faced and panting with exertion. Audrey turned away from the door, anticipating a continued journey up to the next floor, but Agent Vane grabbed her arm and pulled her backward. "We have a cardkey," he said with a sick smile, slipping the key out of his light green CEDA windbreaker. "We'll be going in here."

The red door led to a small, dimly-lit lobby. Three hallways led away from it. The bare walls were painted off-white, and the tile floor was coated with a slight layer of dust. The hard plastic chairs and upturned end-tables scattered around the room suggested that it had once been used and then abandoned. Vane strode though the graveyard of unused furniture confidently, turning down the hallway labeled "Arness Ward." He beckoned to Killy and Audrey to follow. Killy did so cautiously, worry and pain making her slow. Audrey stood slightly behind Killy, as if trying to hide from Agent Vane. Her mind was working furiously, though her mouth stayed tightly clamped shut. She knew that Killy wouldn't last long without some sort of medication. It had been stupid to think they could leave the hospital with her in such a state. The teen could barely walk, let alone fend off any Infected. Her body was breaking down, and if Killy died, Audrey would be alone.

Vane led them down to the end of the hall. By this time Killy was breathing heavily, combat boots stumbling on the blue and white linoleum. Audrey slipped one hand into Killy's and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The blonde girl looked down into Audrey's dark, anxious face, startled. "When we check in, we can rest," Audrey whispered encouragingly.

Killy's laugh was entirely without humor. "Doesn't look like we're gonna see the Riders in Georgia," she wheezed. She held onto Audrey's hand for dear life.

"Don't you dare worry about that," Audrey ordered.

Killy squeezed her hand. "I don't have the energy to worry, Aud. I'm all tapped out. Beat. There's not gonna be much rest if we're being tested all the day."

"In here." Vane paused at the end of the hall and yanked open a metal door. Killy peered in. All she could see was a pale square of light created by the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling in the hall. The floor beyond was made of blue tile. Audrey and Killy both looked at Agent Vane. "Go in!" he ordered.

Killy muttered a curse and stumbled into the darkness first. All around her was pitch blackness. She frowned. Her footsteps echoed loudly all around her. Dimly she heard Audrey skitter in behind her, and felt the girl's cold hand steal into her own again. The blood pounded in her ears, and her heartbeat slammed into her ribcage with incredible force. Something was wrong. Badly wrong. Not with her heart but with the situation. This was more terrifying than the time she almost crashed her pickup into a semi on a rainy night, or the time JayJay forgot to lock the door and her father almost walked in on them having sex. Only a hasty cover up and a bit of misdirection kept him from entering the bedroom on that particular day. But a few words about going off to find Chloe and talking to her about fake drivers' licenses would not sway Agent Vane. Icy cold fear flooded her veins.

"Where the hell are we?" she snapped, anger making her voice sound strong for the first time. "What's going on?" The two silent agents behind her turned on a pair of dark green lanterns and set them on an end table beside the door. She blinked. They were in a long, narrow room with shower stalls lining the two longest walls. The floor sloped gently downward toward a series of dusty metal drains in the center of the rows. On the farthest end of the room were old, battered lockers and some benches. The room smelled of rust and stagnant water.

Agent Vane stepped toward the showers. "You two have been to Fairfield," he began, watching them dispassionately. "You have traveled, you have encountered the Infected. You're infected yourself. No doubt. We cannot risk you infecting everyone."

Killy's eyes widened with horror. "You son of a . . . ."

The agents stepped behind them. The taller one, who wore his dark brown hair in a professional-looking crew cut, grabbed Killy's arms and hauled her over to the showers. The man's grip was painful and unforgiving, and he kept hold of her arm even when it was bent beyond the normal range. Killy resisted the urge to scream aloud, shoulder muscles taxed to the limit. The movement pulled the skin around the slashes on her chest, cracking the tender scabs. The pain rose from a low moan to a scream. Blood leaked from the slices. Red roses began to bloom on the surface of her white tee-shirt. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Audrey being forced across the room in the same manner by the bald man. Audrey struggled viciously, and the man hit her across the face. Then he shoved her into the wall. The impact mashed her lips up against her teeth, cutting them. They began to bleed fiercely.

"What are you _doing_?" screamed Audrey. Her voice echoed weirdly in the shower room, thick with pain and terror. Sickening waves of pain radiated from her teeth, and oh _man_ did they hurt! She resisted the urge to vomit and managed to spit out, "What the _fuck _are you _doing_?"

"We cannot risk you getting out of here and infecting the whole world," said Vane simply. "You're not meant to exist."

The agents withdrew guns from inside their jackets. Audrey shrieked. Killy stepped in front of her friend. But the two men didn't lower their guns. "Get on your knees," ordered the taller one, running a hand through his dark brown crew cut. "Do it now."

"No!" cried Audrey, tears streaming down her face. This was insane. This was America, land of the free and home of the brave. What the hell did this Vane think he was doing? He couldn't just kill innocent civilians!

"Get down on the ground!" roared Agent Vane, his face livid. Saliva sprayed from his mouth. Killy tensed, ignoring the excruciating pain in her torso, ready to jump in front of a bullet to save Audrey. "Do it!"

Sobbing, Audrey did as she was told. The crew cut agent moved behind her. "Put your head down," he said coldly. She bent her head, and heard the click of the safety. But Killy still stood in front of her, blocking her view of the door and the psychotic agent that led them here.

"Get on the ground, Miss," said Vane coldly.

Killy lifted her chin defiantly. "Fuck you."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, fuck you," Killy repeated in a slightly stronger voice. "What the hell do you think you're doing? This . . ." rage made her voice tremble. "This is un-American! Damn un-American!" "Do you think I _care_, Miss?" demanded Vane. "You are a threat to America and you _must _be deal with properly."

"Murdering a pair of teenagers is your version of dealing with a threat?" she snapped. "We're not even sick! You should be helping people!" "There is no determined way to help anyone," snarled Vane, then stopped. His breath caught in his chest. He looked suddenly guilty.

"Hang on." Killy stared at him hard. "You people have no idea how to fix this shit?"

"CEDA is developing a vaccine."

"Liar." "Miss-"

"Get down on your knees," snarled the bald agent. He whipped out his gun and clipped Killy on the head. A sickening crack echoed through the room; bright light flared in front of Killy's eyes. She dropped to the floor, stunned. Pain lanced through her head, bringing needle-sharp agony to every corner of her consciousness. Dimly she head Audrey screaming. Everything seemed too bright and too dark all at once; the grout between the pale blue tiles seemed incredibly clear to her, but everything else was too misty to make out. She couldn't move. The bald man hauled her to her knees. She offered no more resistance than a sack of flour, too weak to even lift her head.

"Please!" Audrey cried. Tears dripped from her face onto the floor, mixing with blood from her lacerated gums. "We just want to go to a concert! Please!"

"Concert is canceled, ladies," said Vane cheerily. "Prentiss, Allen, you know what to do." Audrey bowed her head, still sobbing, and began mumble prayers. Killy glanced over at her friend's silhouette. Her defeated posture broke Killy's heart. _I'm sorry, Audrey. I couldn't protect you. _She fixed her eyes on Agent Vane's pale face. A sliver of light from the lantern illuminated one half of his face. _I want you to watch me die, you bitch_, she thought with loathing. _I want you to remember me. _And then, _I'll be with you soon, JayJay. I love you._

With images of her friends running through her mind; Thad and his blue fedora, Laurie and John on the couch, JayJay lying in bed with her on a rainy day, Killy Denton prepared to die.

-(!)-

Smitty was bored.

He stared out the window at the bland scenery, at the sky dotted with green "CEDA Emergency Air Transports," at the glittering sea far in the distance, and tried not to pick at the bandage wrapped around his arm. He hated the damn thing anyway. The CEDA medics had taken blood _four times_ before finally being satisfied and hauling the three Midnight Riders into a helicopter. At least they had it all to themselves, except for two additional agents, the pilot, and four military personnel with heavy automatic machine guns slung over their shoulders. No one said a word, not even Ox, who usually complained for the first hour of a plane ride. The military men refused to tell them anything about their destination. So they lapsed into silence, each wondering about different things.

Ox, for starters, wondered when they were getting fed.

Smitty wondered what they were going to do from here.

Dusty wondered if Jake was okay. He hoped the old man escaped the park. After all, they were counting on him to bring the bus to Rayford. He scowled. If the old bastard had screwed up, they were all doomed. He eyed the bright yellow backpacks laid out on the bench opposite him. There were ten. One for each man aboard the helicopter. He tried not to think about them.

"So," said Smitty, breaking the silence for the first time. All the men looked at him, except the pilot. Uneasily he cleared his throat. "So, uh, how much money would it take to get you guys to drop us off in, say, Rayford Georgia?"

One of the military drones, a taller creature with bright green eyes and a scar on his cheek, glared at him. "You're not going to Rayford. You're going to Outpost DC. Where you belong."

"Where is _that_?" demanded Dusty.

"None of your business," the man responded smugly.

Dusty resisted the urge to punch him. "And why?"

"Because. It's protocol."

"To hell with protocol!" snapped Smitty. "America's going to hell, man, you can give us a bit of information on where we're going!"

"I cannot give you any information," responded the man. "Now shut up."

Smitty bristled. "What the hell did you just say to me?" "Mister Smitty, that is an order-"

"To hell with your order!" "Guys . . . ." That was Ox's unusually quiet voice. Everyone ignored him. Smitty balled his hands into fists and began to shout. His face was crimson. Dusty watched him critically, keeping an eye on his friend's complexion. This was going to wreak havoc on his heart. It would not be cool if Smitty died of a heart attack while in the air. _I've already lost one friend today_, he thought, and the sudden flash of fear and sorrow made his own heart ache in his chest. The backpacks seemed to attract his eye. He couldn't look away from them even if he wanted to.

Smitty was still shouting, his face now the color of brick. "Fuck protocol! Tell me what the hell is going on! I'm a damn American, I have rights! I have rights dammit!" The oldest military guy finally lost his cool. "Mister Smitty, there _is _no America!" he roared. "This is CEDA and you _have no rights_! Now I ask you one more time, shut the hell up or I'll-"

"GUYS!" Ox leaped off the bench and jumped into the middle of the circle, interrupting any further argument. The military fellow could not scowl at Smitty around Ox's impressive bulk. But before he could open his mouth, Ox pointed a dramatic finger towards the cab. "The pilot!"

They stopped fighting and turned, suddenly, hellishly aware of a faint gagging noise and the smell of vomit. Anger was forgotten in immense horror. The pilot was choking and convulsing, his skin a dusky gray. The lap of his blue jumpsuit was coated with bile and blood.

The reaction was instantaneous. One of the CEDA medics pushed Smitty aside and reached the cab long before anyone had the chance to flinch. "Sir? Sir? Are you okay?" he asked pompously, checking the man's vitals. "Martin? Can you hear me?" "He's a zombie!" shrieked the youngest of the military drones. His pimples stood out like specks of blood on his stark white face. "Oh my GOD!"

"Calm down, Private Ames!" roared the old man. "Calm down and SHUT UP!" "Fuck you Evans!" shrieked Ames. He seized one of the backpacks and ran for the emergency hatch in the back of the helicopter. "Good luck, ya bastards!"

Smitty bent and wrapped his the bench, hiding his face in his sweatshirt sleeve. Ox and Dusty copied their friend. There was a sudden gust of wind, a flashing red light, and Private Ames was gone.

The other military men lurched on their feet, knocked askew by the opening of the emergency hatch. But they soon recovered. Smitty raised his head and watched as Colonel Evans drew a pistol and pointed it directly at the cabin. He could not hear a thing over the wind, but the shape of Evans's lips formed the words, "Don't move, Martin!"

Pilot Martin was beyond caring. His eyes were wild, his mouth dripping with foam and blood. One of the pompous CEDA medics lay at his feet with his throat torn out. The other was screaming over the hole torn in his suit. Evans fired, blowing off the agent's head in a colorful spray of blood and brains. Smitty couldn't close his eyes fast enough to avoid seeing it. The image would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Martin stumbled out of his chair, a sound that was half growl, half whine issuing from his throat. Evans fired again. The bullet pinged off the bulletproof windshield and plowed into the metal floor. Martin stumbled forward, arms outstretched.

"Private Strauss!" roared Evans. "Get him!"

The remaining soldier came forward. He fired four times, but his shaking hands kept any of the bullets from reaching their mark. They did, however, penetrate the control console. A spray of sparks exploded from the panel. Smitty watched, horrified and repulsed, as Martin ran toward Private Strauss, one wildly-waving arm clipping him in the face. Strauss pumped three bullets into Martin's torso. He collapsed, dead before he hit the ground, knocking Strauss over. Evans ran to assist him, face pale and ashy with fear. He knelt beside Strauss and the dead agent. Strauss was panting, covered in drips of zombie blood, pinned to the ground by the heavy pilot. Evans shoved the zombie's body. "You all right, Strauss?"

The young man sat up, dazed, running a hand through his bloody hair. Evans offered a hand to Strauss. He shook his head. He took the pistol from Martin's hip holster and regarded it gravely. "Don't do it, Son," said Evans weakly.

Strauss smiled sadly. "We're fucked, Colonel Evans." He brought the gun up this mouth.

The report that signified the end of Colin Strauss's life was deafening in the metal helicopter.

Evans shook his head rapidly, trying to clear his reeling mind. The stink of blood was in his nose, all over his fucking _face_, and the three Midnight Riders were shouting. Those sounds did nothing to help the whine in his ears. The voices were driving him crazy. Strauss was dead, Ames was _definitely _dead, Sweets and Carter and Martin were dead. Then there was a siren, which didn't worry him. He knew the helicopter's emergency door was wide open. All that required was someone to shut it again. But, there was also a beeping, and the beeping scared him. He turned to the cab, oblivious to the Midnight Riders still clinging to the bench. The beeping was the auto-pilot. Only two minutes had elapsed during this entire ordeal, but the helicopter's auto-pilot was screwed. Without anyone controlling it, the Emergency Air Transport 23-B30 had continued in its shallow descent towards the ground, but during the . . . Altercation . . . No one had even attempted to pilot the helicopter. Evans hesitated. _I could use the Emergency Controls, contact CEDA on the radio . . . ._

He ran to the control panel, but before he could even get to the cab, he saw the plumes of smoke and the sparks issuing from the red Emergency Control panel. Those bullets that missed Martin had ruined the console computer. They were drifting across the sky in a broken helicopter.

He turned to face the Riders. They stared up at him in silent, wide-eyed panic, needing comfort, needing assurance of their safety. He tried to look official. His stony face, covered in zombie blood, did nothing to reassure them. _Strange how all of this went to hell_, he thought. _I can't convince them that we'll be okay, everything's gone to shit!_

_**But protocol . . . . **_the voice of CEDA and the United States Government murmured in his ear.

_Fuck protocol! _screamed his insensible side. _You're not getting out of this, who cares if you give them a tiny bit of information in the last thirty seconds of their lives?_ _No one's going to know, you'll all be dead!_

Colonel Evans gave up trying to retain his professional persona. He offered a weak grin to the three remaining members of this unhappy party, but tears began to well up in his eyes. "Well, kiddies," he said, his voice strained and distant to his own ears, "it appears we're going to die."

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><p><strong>Wow. It's done. Incredible. I thought this chapter would NEVER be over. .<strong>

**Next up, Chapter 6. (:  
><strong>


	6. The Smoker

**Kaiiba, uploaded this for you.  
>Hey everyone, enjoy this freshly-edited chapter. It's a school day so I'm sitting in study hall with nothing to do, might as well do some editing. Once again I would like to apologize to everyone for a long wait. It's been one hell of a month for me.<strong>

**Hope everyone leaves some kickass reviews.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Road Trip<strong>

Jake Thorne cruised along the highway at seventy, oblivious to the passing cars that honked at him, the drivers waving their fists indignantly. The bus handled like a three-legged horse. _Now I know why Paul hated us so much_, he thought. _This is what we get for buying a bus from Korea._

He flipped on the radio, twitching his fingers in time to some old rock song. "At least it isn't _Love Supply_, right?" he wondered aloud. "Oh joy, I'm talking to myself."

He sighed. "Second day on the road and I'm already nuts. What day is it? October . . . 20? What? Hell. I don't know. It's been like a week and we're already fucked."

He glanced at the empty chair where a slender blonde reporter had once sat, writing answers in a large notebook. He imagined her sitting there now, trim and perfect in an impeccable dark blue suit, too skinny to have a decent body, but her face looked damn good, and Jake liked a woman with a lot of hair. _And where are your friends now, Mr. Thorne?_ this imaginary woman inquired.

"Dead, prob'ly," he muttered, accelerating, cutting off some dumbass in a Prius, keeping his eyes focused on the road. "Or being tested on. Gotta remember the objective. Rayford. I'm meeting them in Rayford."

_Do you know where Rayford is? It's in the middle of nowhere, Mr. Thorne . . . ._

"Our fans await us."

_The ones that are still alive, that is._

"Dear God," he muttered. "I'm going to go crazy. I need to get those guys back. They're counting on me."

_And you would do anything, correct?_

"I'm driving out to some shitty little one-star burg without cell service or a decent strip club, hell yes I'm doing anything . . . ."

The blonde reporter laughed in his head. _Good luck, Mr. Thorne._

He took a deep breath and let the image of the young blonde fade. "I'm gonna need it. I'm so close but, what if they're not there? What do I do?"

-(!)-

Killy Denton was going to die.

She supposed it was inevitable. All her life, she had done more dangerous things than anyone she knew. She had stolen her step-father's truck more than once, earning beatings in the process; gotten drunk in the park; shoplifted; vandalized park benches; and once participated in the beating of a young man who had made a pass at her best friend's girlfriend. She smoked pot almost daily and fell in love with her dealer. Her life was a life of sin, and she indulged herself in every sinful thing she could find. What the hell, who cared. It was _her _life, God dammit, _hers_, and no one was going to tell her she couldn't spend her time half in the bag.

But now, as she sat in this dim shower room, she wondered finally if there might be an afterlife. It couldn't be much worse than her current situation. Killy had already seen hell.

Beside her, her friend Audrey Stone knelt on the cold, hard tile floor, a bald-headed CEDA agent standing behind her. Audrey was weeping, wiping her hands across her streaming nose and bleeding mouth. Audrey, too, knew that death fast approached. If Agent Vane had not been distracted by his cell phone, her brains would have already been splattered across the floor and washed into the drain. But Vane, the egotistical perfectionist responsible for their deaths, had held up one finger as soon as his phone rang. He spoke in a low, oily voice that just screamed suck-up. _I wonder if it's the President,_ thought Killy, beginning to grin. She couldn't help it. It was a funny thought to her. _If you live, 'member that you grin like a dumbass when you think you're gonna git yerself kilt._

_Also, stop talkin' like a Southerner. You sound like Eddie._

Someone coughed.

The bald agent looked up, frowning. He lowered his gun. The other agent glanced at him quizzically. "You hear something?" he asked slowly.

Agent Vane lifted that carefully manicured finger and pressed it to his lips. His bright eyes warned the men to be quiet. He then continued his murmured conversation. One hand lay limply on his leg. He bounced idly as he listened. The cough came again, louder this time. Audrey flinched. She shot a glance at Killy. No, above Killy's bent back, at the other man. Agent Prentiss. When a third cough came floating out of the dark, she looked down at Killy and shook her head. Prentiss, standing above Killy, had not reacted. Nor had Vane, nor Allen.

_There's another person in here, watching what you're doing, and you guys don't care? _Killy wondered. _Good job at being oblivious._

Vane finished his conversation and flipped his thin cell phone shut. "Now, dears," he began in a smooth, soothing voice, "I think we've taken enough of a break, don't you? Of course-"

Another cough, louder this time. Vane froze and spun around. "Who was that?" he demanded. "Who's there?"

It was odd, Killy thought. Looking back on it, she realized she never actually comprehended the situation until it was over, and the blood already lined the walls. Everything happened so quickly, and yet, it was possibly the slowest two minutes of her life.

She saw the blonde man step backward, just once, toward the shadows at the far end of the room, where the lanterns did not penetrate. She heard a final cough and a sudden cry. She saw Vane fall to the ground, legs flying out from beneath him. His feet scrabbled against the floor, trying to find purchase. She couldn't hear him scream. It was as if all the breath had been knocked out of him. Something was dragging him backward, into the shadows. _Holy shit, he's turning red,_ she mused. _What the hell is going on?_

Allen ran to Vane's aid, shouting something incomprehensible. His gun went off, three loud reports magnified by the tile walls. Audrey let loose a little shriek. Killy continued watching the drama unfolding before them. Now only Agent Vane's shoes were visible. The rest of him was swallowed up by darkness. She could hear muffled cries from Vane, and the clicking of his smart shoes on the floor. "Prentiss!" yelled Allen. "Help!" He fired again. Killy moaned and covered her ears. Deafness was probably unavoidable at this point. Even through her makeshift earmuffs, she heard the choked voice float out of the dark.

"Oh my _God_," it wheezed, "It's his _tongue_ . . . ."

"PRENTISS!" Allen fired again, emptying his gun into the shadows. Killy heard a small, muffled yelp. Whatever was holding Vane had been clipped.

Prentiss didn't move. His uncertain gaze flicked first to Killy, kneeling at his feet, then to Audrey, who was unguarded.

Killy didn't think. She simply reacted. She whipped around and struck the man, open-palm, straight in the groin. He yelped. Killy wrenched the gun from his hand. There was a sickening crack; Killy turned. A choked gargle echoed through the room. Then Allen was firing again, and bullets flew everywhere.

"Kat!" Audrey was screaming. "Kat!"

Prentiss had recovered. With an effort, he straightened, and rounded on the two prisoners. Killy did not hesitate. Her ears were full of a furious whine, and her head pounded fiercely, but her eyes were clear and aware. She thumbed the trigger twice, shooting with her mind and heart. The first bullet winged Agent Prentiss's leg. Killy did not see the pain in his eyes, or the white gleam of his bared teeth. He stumbled. The second tore off the top of his head in an explosion of gore. Warm ropes of blood exploded outward, painting the blue tiles a sick, muddy maroon. Prentiss collapsed; he landed on his back upon the filthy floor. Killy turned around, ducking and twisting, throwing her bloody body over Audrey. Audrey shrieked. Allen rushed into the light circle cast by the powerful CEDA lantern, shouting, aiming, trying to fire-

A rope? Was that what shot out of the darkness and twined around Allen's shoulders? Surely not. A rope did not pulsate. A rope did not fly of its own accord and tie itself in a neat coil around a man's body. A rope did not incite such terror in a normal man. Killy stared at the screaming agent, bewildered. _What . . . .?_

"Shoot the tongue, Killy!" yelled Audrey.

"Tongue?" asked Killy blankly. She fired. The bullet missed entirely. Allen was turning purple. "It's his tongue? _Seriously_?"

"He's choking Killy! He's choking!"

_Crack._

Allen fell to the ground and moved no more.

There was a single cough.

Audrey looked at Killy. She was standing in the middle of the room, gun held loosely in one hand. Her eyes were wide with shock. She stared back wordlessly at Audrey. Her mouth opened, worked. No sound came out.

The silence was deafening.

-(!)-

"Wake up." Muddy brown eyes flickered open. Darkness. Stars. Clouds. A forest. What happened? Alive? Dead? Ox did not know.

"Ox. Wake up. Dude. We're alive."

_Alive? Yeah of course. We're on the bus. Did we crash?_

Yes and no. Yes, they had crashed, but something bigger than a bus. Were they on a train? A plane? A-

"Helicopter . . . ."

Ox sat up. "Helicopter," he repeated. "The helicopter crashed."

He looked up into Dusty's face. He smiled sadly. He looked nothing like the hard-ass Ox had always known. It was if the old man was trying to be gentle. Somehow that spooked Ox more than anything. "Yeah. Evans is dead. He kept us alive, man."

"What . . . What happened?"

Dusty opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. "Later."

Ox frowned. He raised one hand to his head and felt wetness in his hair. _Gross,_ he thought, and winced. "Where's Smitty?"

"Alive," called a voice. The aging rock star was sitting on a fallen log only a few yards away. There was a metal chest at his feet, and he was holding a pistol. "Found these," he called, waving the Magnum. "There was a whole damn case of them."

"Where?" asked Ox.

Smitty grinned. "In here." He nudged the box with his foot. "Evans gave us before he croaked."

"What the _hell _are you talking about . . . ."

"We crashed in a state park. We carried you half a mile, asshole. In the box. While all the shit went on our backs. Lose some fucking weight, would ya?"

"Huh?" asked Ox, confused beyond reason. "State park?"

"It's called . . . Allegheny National Forest, I think," grumbled Dusty. "I ain't paying attention to the damn signs. Reading's for pussies."

"So, where did the box come from?"

Smitty explained quickly. Evans had died shortly after the copter dove into a lake. It seemed that the only thing keeping him alive after impact was his strong sense of duty. He directed Smitty to a box in the cabin, dented but intact, full of guns and provisions. Then he gave up on life. His last words were "watch out for the hordes."

"Hordes?" asked Ox.

"The zombies travel in packs," said Smitty grimly. "It's . . . bad. Like some sort of goddamn Hive-mind."

"How do you know?"

Dusty sighed. "We killed a couple. They pop up every couple hours. We had to arm ourselves. They're nasty."

Ox groaned. "Oh."

Dusty nodded grimly. "They're great." "So how did we get out of the copter? How did we survive impact? That part's a blank for me. Was I unconscious while we were in the air?"

Dusty smirked for the first time. He glanced over at Smitty. "Do _you _want to tell him about the octopus?"

-(!)-

"Kat." Killy sat in the dark. Her eyes refused to focus. The stink of blood filled her nose. She ignored the voice. _Fuck words, what do I need those for_? She wondered hazily. _I don't care at all. Words words words. They suck._

"Kat. Snap out of it." Killy scowled. _Go away_, she wanted to say. But her brain was not ready for words. Words were powerful. Words were heavy. Deadly.

"Kat, it's coughing."

Katherine Denton raised her head. "What?" she asked. Her throat felt like it was full of broken glass. That single word had sounded funny exiting her mouth. She frowned. Still not ready to talk. She hunched down into a ball and pressed herself against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees. The cooling corpse of Agent Allen drew her eye. She could not look away from it. He was a man. A man that was not sick. She killed him. She shuddered. "What's coughing?"

"That thing." Killy stared into the shadows. There was no movement.

"Kill it, Kat. Kill it before it kills us."

She stood shakily. When she stumbled, she put her hand out to steady herself. Her fingers touched clotted blood and brains. She swore vividly. Audrey tried to come to her aid, but Killy brushed her off. She turned on one of the showers, not caring when a spout of freezing water struck her jeans. Pinkish muck swirled down the rusty drain. Shuddering, she turned off the water. The silence fell again.

_Cough. Cough._

Killy could stand it no longer. She vomited directly into the shower stall. Her throat burned, the muscles in her neck begged for a respite, but she continued until there was nothing left. Even then, dry heaves racked her weakened body. She fell to her knees. _God let it end_, her body pleaded.

_There is no end,_ responded her mind.

_There is no God_, added her heart.

Killy did not know how long she knelt there, relieving her stomach of its previous contents. Her mouth was full of sick and blood, and her hands trembled. The gun slipped from her nerveless fingers. Hands touched her back. It was Audrey. "Kat?" she muttered. "Please get up."

Killy used Audrey's shoulder for support to stand. Then she glanced around the room. It was still silent except for the girls' harsh breathing. "What the fuck is in here?" she demanded in a voice barely above a whisper. "Come out and show yourself."

Audrey picked up the gun.

Tense, the girls waited in the dark. Audrey was getting over her fright, and as fear flooded out of her veins, anger returned. "Come out!" she yelled. "Come out or I'll bring the light to you! I'm not scared of you, you monster! Come out!"

_Cough._

Audrey heard the click of shoes. A man stepped from the shadows.

Killy screamed. She couldn't help it. The man's tongue was impossibly long. It dangled from his mouth to the floor. His gingery-blonde hair stuck out in odd directions from the top of his head. His face, the part Killy could see, was a roadmap of boils and scratches. The rest was covered by an enormous, pulsating tumor. Blood leaked from its nose and lips. _Is it ALIVE_? She thought in horror. _Oh my God, OH my GOD oh my God the man's got a bald hedgehog on his face_!

The monster coughed again. Audrey stepped toward him. "Are you a friend?" she asked bravely. "We'll be your friend if you're our friend."

_She's nuts_, thought Killy bemusedly. _I'll be damned. Crazier than me._

The creature took a step forward, almost timid. A choked sound issued from its throat. Audrey frowned. It sounded like a word. "What?"

He coughed. His mouth opened. A sound dropped from its lips like a soap bubble. A single syllable. "Deh-Deh-Deh-Deh . . . ."

"What? Can you talk?"

Killy kicked Audrey's ankle. "Let's go," she whispered.

"No, Killy." Audrey smiled hesitantly. "It's our friend."

"How the _fuck_ do you know?"

"Because it hasn't hurt us, and it got rid of Vane for us."

Killy winced. The sound of Vane's neck breaking echoed in her head. She resisted the urge to throw up again. Throwing up was for pussies. "It did indeed kill him," she said, scowling. She grabbed Audrey's shoulder. "Come on."

"No, Killy, it's trying to talk!"

"I don't care! It's a monster! It's-"

"De-De-Den-ton." They froze. The monster swayed on both feet, looking around, touching its tongue with one gray hand. It seemed bewildered. "Denton," it said again. "K-Kat."

"Who the fuck are you?" Killy roared, yanking the Glock out of Audrey's hand. She pointed it at the monster with shaking hands. Furious tears streamed down her cheeks. They pattered against the floor. Her burning eyes were pale fire in her stark white face. The CEDA lantern threw her profile into sharp relief. "WHO ARE YOU?"

"Kat," it croaked. "Th-Th-Th-Th . . . ."

"WHO ARE YOU? You son of a bitch, _WHO_?" "Tha . . . Thad . . . ."

"No!" "De-Den-ton, Th-Th-ad . . . ."

Fire roared. Bullets flew. Neither of the girls knew how many. The sounds overlapped one another. Whatever remained in the gun exited the barrel, piercing the tall monster's chest, face, stomach. It cried out and fell over, bleeding, choking. Blood bubbled up and out of its mouth. The sound was disgusting. _My demons are coming to find me, _Killy thought wildly. She was barely aware of Audrey's scream as she covered her ears and bowed her head, trying to block out the explosion. _Oh God, the demons are coming after me. Oh God, Mom, I'm so sorry. You were right, the Devil lives on Earth. Is this my punishment?_

"KAT!" (_Hugging a crying Thad; watching his sister die had been so damn hard for him)_

"_KAT!"_

(_Partying all night, sitting on JayJay's lap, laughing at Thad's shitty jokes)_

That wild noise was coming from her throat. She couldn't control it. "You're _not Thad_!" she screamed. Unchecked. Not composed. Impossible to stop. "You're _not_!"

"KAT! It's dead!"

"_You're not Thad!_" She pulled the trigger again and again, but the gun only clicked. It was empty. She wailed. Her arm swung up; she reversed it, trying to bring the gun butt down into the monster's ruined face. "_You're not_! _Thad is __**dead**_!"

Audrey leaped at her friend. Killy reacted only a little too late. Audrey wrestled the gun from Killy's hand, dodging a wild blow. The blonde gave a howl of rage and rounded on her, but Audrey jumped back before Kat could strike. "Killy!"

Trembling, Killy turned away. Her face was a twisted mask of grief and confusion. She stared at the dead creature. "Thad died in Talville," she said. "He was sick. I knew it. I knew he was gonna die. I knew he was gonna die!"

"He mutated," replied Audrey grimly. She examined the corpse, suppressing a groan of disgust. He was filthy and stank something fierce. "He looks like he had bad cancer."

"He probably did," Killy muttered. "He smoked a fucking pack a day." She couldn't look at the corpse. It was horrifying. She didn't want to have to think about it. She couldn't think that the monster she murdered had been her onetime friend and drinking buddy.

Audrey offered her hand timidly. "Come on, we need to go. We have a concert to get to. Remember?"

"Fuck the concert," sighed Killy. "But we should go to Rayford. CEDA's supposed to be there. REAL fuckin CEDA. Not these homicidal bastards. A real damn facility. A chance to escape."

"We'll go together," said Audrey. "We're in this to the end, Kat. Whether we see the Riders or not. We gotta do this to live. To survive."

Killy managed a small smile. She walked over to Vane's body and rummaged about in his pocket. It was okay when the dark hid his face and broken neck. Still smiling, she withdrew his wallet from his blazer. "Plenty of cash," she said gleefully. Her jaunty attitude did not fool Audrey. The girl knew her friend was slowly losing her mind. "Time to blow this joint!"

Holding hands, the girls left the shower room in silence.

-(!)-

A note from Audrey's journal:

_Dear Diary,_

_God, I can't believe we're out of that hospital. Thank you Jesus._

_Killy is quiet. We met her friend Thad. He was a monster. Seeing him drove her crazy. Poor Killy._

_I don't have much to say. I'm tired, cold, and frightened. But it's drawing down dark on our final day in Virginia. We drove straight for the last three days. We didn't stop except for gas and some food. The zombies are getting worse. Killy ran over one. It was gross._

_Diary, I can't believe we're alive. I can't believe we killed three men. I can't believe that I'm not going to hell for this. We've gone through so much for this stupid Midnight Riders concert. But now I don't think it's about that at all. We're just trying to **live**_._ We've escaped so much death. We've driven across several states, bringing slaughter along with us like some sort of dark cloud, a plague. We're Angels of Death. Or . . . Is it just Killy? Is it bad luck that she brings? Is she the Devil? Or is the real Hell all around us? Angel, demon, what does it matter? She's all I have._

_I miss Dad. I wonder if he's okay. Weird to think of him, he's never been in my life, but . . . I wonder. Dad, I hope you're okay._

_Dear God, please help Killy. I think she's lost it. Her mind is so fragmented. She won't talk. She won't eat. She just drives. She hasn't taken off that fedora since we left the hospital._

_Rayford's getting close. Hopefully, a hotel and a shower tonight. Wish us luck, Diary._

_Audrey Stone_

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><p><strong>Like I said, reviews are pretty cool. Kthnx. :3<strong>


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